niuiiimiiiiiu 
liiuunut 


FROM    THE    LIBRARY    OF 


REV     LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.    D.   D. 


BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 


THE    LIBRARY    OF 


PRINCETON    THEOLOGICAL    SEMINARY 


he  lor. 


SHORTER    ELIZABETHAN    POEMS 


*AN 

ENGLISH 

[ 

1937 

SHORTER 
ELIZABETHAN    POEMS 

WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BY 
A.    H.    BULL  EN 


1 


NEW    YORK 
E.    P.    DUTTON    AND    CO. 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE 

The  texts  contained  in  the  present  volume  are  re- 
printed with  very  slight  alterations  from  the  English 
Garner  issued  in  eight  volumes  (1877-1S90,  London, 
8vo)  by  Professor  Arber,  whose  name  is  sufficient 
guarantee  for  the  accurate  collation  of  the  texts 
with  the  rare  originals,  the  old  spelling  being  in 
most  cases  carefully  modernised.  The  contents  of 
the  original  Garner  have  been  rearranged  and  now 
for  the  first  time  classified,  under  the  general 
editorial  supervision  of  Mr.  Thomas  Seccombe. 
Certain  lacunae  have  been  filled  by  the  interpolation 
of  fresh  matter.  The  Introductions  are  wholly 
new  and  have  been  written  specially  for  this  issue. 


Edinburgh  :  T.  and  A.  CoNSTAnLK,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 


CONTENTS 


Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs  of  Sadness  and  Piety  (1588).     By 
William    Byrd,   one   of  the    gentlemen   of   the   Queen's 

Majesty's  honorable  Chapel,         ......  1 

*William  Byrd's  Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures  (1589),        ...  25 

*William  Byrd's  Second  Book  of  Songs  and  Sonnets  (161 1),        .  51 

Musica  Transalpina  (Madrigals  chosen  out  of  divers  excellent 

Authors),  1588.     Edited  by  Nicholas  Yonge,      ...  59 

John  Dowland's  First  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs,  1597,      ...  79 

John  Dowland's  Second  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs,  1600,  .         .         .  101 

John  Dowland's  Third  and  Last  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs,  1603,     .  117 

John  Dowland's  A  Pilgrim's  Solace,  1612, 131 

John  Wilbye's  First  Set  of  Madrigals,  1598, 145 

The  Triumphs  of  Oriana.     Edited  by  Thomas  Morley,  1601,       .  153 

Thomas  Campion's  A  Book  of  Airs,  1601  (to  music  by  Campion 

and  Rosseter), 165 

Thomas  Campion's  Two  Books  of  Airs  [161 3],      ....  193 

Thomas  Campion's  Third  and  Fourth  Books  of  Airs  [1617-18],   .  225 

Richard  Alison's  An  Hour's  Recreation  in  Music,  1606,       .         .  261 

Love  Posies  of  the  Sixteenth   Century  [from  Harleian  Manu- 
script 6910],  1596, 269 

Love's  Garland  :  or  Posies  for  Rings,  Handkerchers,  and  Gloves; 
and  such  pretty  Tokens  that  Lovers  send  their   Loves, 

1624, 279 


Newly  inserted  in  the  Garner. 


VI 


Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 


Cupid's  Posies  (1674), 291 

Posies  for  Rings,  or  Mottoes  fit  for  Presents.    Collected  by  W.  P., 

1677 307 


Single  Poems. 

Conceipt  begotten  by  the  Eyes  (Sir  Walter  Raleigh),  . 

What  cunning  can  express  (Edward  de  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford), 

Love  in  my  bosom  like  a  bee  (Thomas  Lodge), 

Phillada  flouts  me  (Anonymous),    . 

The  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid  (Ben  Jonson), 

King  Oberon's  Apparel  (Sir  Simeon  Steward), 

I  loved  a  lass,  a  fair  one  !  (George  Wither), . 

The  Chronicle  (Abraham  Cowley), 

Sitting  and  drinking  in   the  chair   made   out   of  the  relics   o 
Sir  Francis  Drake's  ship  (Abraham  Cowley), 

The  Wish  (Abraham  Cowley),        .... 

Bermudas  (Andrew  Marvell),         .... 

The  Garden  (Andrew  Marvell),      .... 

A  Dialogue  between  the  Resolved  Soul  and  Created  Pleasure 
(Andrew  Marvell),        .... 

Love  still  has  something  of  the  sea  (Sir  Charles  Sedley), 

Hears  not,  my  Phillis  !  how  the  birds  (Sir  Charles  Sedley), 

Phillis,  men  say  that  all  my  vows  (Sir  Charles  Sedley), 

Phillis  is  my  only  joy  (Sir  Charles  Sedley),  . 

Winter  (Charles  Cotton), 


312 

314 
316 

3i8 
321 

325 
327 
331 

335 
338 
340 
342 

345 
348 
349 
35° 
35o 
35i 


INTRODUCTION 

When  Elizabeth,  of  pious  memory,  entered  on  her  glorious 

reign  the  prospects  of  English  poetry  were  gloomy  indeed. 

In   1557,  the  year  before  her  accession,  Tottel 's  Miscellany 

had   been    published ;    but    Wyatt   and    Surrey,  the   chief 

contributors  to  that  anthology,  had  long  been  dead.     In 

Scotland    there   was    one    writer,    Alexander    Scott,   who 

showed  himself  a  not  unworthy  successor  to  Wyatt,  but  in 

the  south  the  Muses  were  badly  served.     William  Blake, 

deploring   the   evil    state    into   which    poetry   had   fallen 

in   the  second  half  of  the   eighteenth   century,  observed 

mournfully — 

'  The  languid  strings  do  scarcely  move  : 
The  sound  is  forced,  the  notes  are  few.' 

But  Blake  lived  to  see  the  return  of  the  golden  age  ;  and 
the  blank  songless  days  of  Elizabeth's  early  reign  were  to 
be  succeeded  by  a  joyous  season  of  unexampled  fecundity. 

The  first  tentative  efforts  of  the  Elizabethans  are  in- 
teresting to  inquisitive  students,  but  by  ordinary  readers 
have  been  relegated  to  that  dim  and  derided  limbo  of 
literature  where  poetasters  flutter  and  twitter  (as  bats  in 
a  cave)  like  the  ghosts  of  Penelope's  suitors  in  Homer. 
'Flourishing'  George  Gascoigne,  whose  'plentiful  vein'  was 
commended  by  Puttenham  ;  Tom  Churchyard, 'that  sang 
so  long  until  quite  hoarse  he  grew ' ;  George  Turberville 
and  Barnabe  Googe,  writers  of  'eglogs,'  epitaphs,  sonnets, 


viii  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

etc. ; — these  and  many  more  must,  in  the  words  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  'be  content  to  be  as  though  they  had 
not  been.' 

A  boke  of  very  pleasaunte  sonettes  and  storyes  in  myter, 
arranged  by  Clement  Robinson,  was  licensed  for  publica- 
tion in  1566,  but  no  copy  has  been  preserved.  Its  loss  is 
to  be  regretted,  for  it  would  be  interesting  to  know  how 
many  of  the  poems  included  in  A  Handefull  of  pleasant 
delites,  the  anthology  issued  by  Robinson  in  1584,  are  to 
be  found  in  the  earlier  collection.  If  Lady  Greensleaves' 
and  the  wooing-song,  '  Maid,  will  ye  love  me,  yea  or  no?' 
were  written  as  early  as  1566,  there  was  at  least  one  poet 
in  that  unpoetical  age  who  had  a  genuine  lyrical  gift. 
Another  light-handed  lyrist  was  John  Harington  (flor. 
1 540- 1 578),  father  of  the  witty  Rabelaisian  Sir  John 
Harington.  It  is  hard  to  believe — but  the  fact  is  in- 
disputable— that  his  verses  to  Isabella  Markham  are  pre- 
served in  a  MS.  dated  1564.  Take  the  first  of  the  three 
stanzas : — 

'Whence  comes  my  love?     O,  heart  disclose  : 
'Tvvas  from  cheeks  that  shame  the  rose, 
From  lips  that  spoil  the  ruby's  praise, 
From  eyes  that  mock  the  diamond's  blaze. 
Whence  come  my  woes  ?  as  freely  own  : 
Ah  me  !  'twas  from  a  heart  of  stone.' 

In  the  absence  of  positive  proof  one  would  ridicule  the 
suggestion  that  this  stanza  could  have  been  composed  as 
early  as  1564.1  Carew  might  have  written  it  in  the  days  of 
Charles  I. 

The  Paradyse   of  Daynty  Devises,   1576,  proved  a  very 

1  It   must  have   been  written  at   least   ten   years   earlier :   John    Harington 
married  Isabella  Markham  in  1554. 


Introduction  ix 

popular  anthology,  passing  through  eight  editions ;  but  it 
offers  little  of  interest  or  value.  Nor  is  better  fare  provided 
in  Thomas  Procter's  anthology,  A  Gorgious  Gallery  of 
Gallant  Inventions,  1578.  In  fact  it  is  not  until  we  reach 
The  Phoenix  Nest,  1593,  that  we  find  an  anthology  contain- 
ing lyrical  poetry  of  really  high  merit,  and  even  in  this 
collection  much  of  the  verse  is  of  poor  quality.  England's 
Helicon,  1600  (ed.  2,  with  additions,  1614)  would  be  of 
sweetness  all  compact  if  some  of  Bartholomew  Yonge's 
tiresome  contributions  were  omitted  ;  and  Davison's 
Poetical  Rapsody,  1602  (reprinted  with  additions  in  1608, 
with  fresh  additions  in  161 1  and  162 1),  though  the  standard 
of  excellence  is  not  quite  so  high  as  in  England's  Helicon, 
is  even  more  valuable,  since  it  preserves  many  charming 
poems  that  had  not  previously  found  their  way  into  print. 
If  only  the  list  of  first  lines  had  been  preserved  we  could 
restore  England's  Helicon,  almost  in  its  entirety,  from 
printed  books ;  but  much  good  verse  would  have  been  lost 
if  Davison's  Rapsody  had  perished. 

The  publication  of  Spenser's  Shepheardes  Calender  in  the 
winter  of  1579  was  an  event  of  capital  importance  in  the 
history  of  English  poetry.  Immediately  the  supremacy  of 
the  new  poet  was  recognised  by  all  discerning  spirits.  *  He 
may  well  wear  the  garland,'  wrote  Webbe  in  his  Discourse 
of  English  Poetrie  (1586),  'and  step  before  the  best  of  all 
English  poets  that  I  have  seen  or  heard.'  Sidney  had  no 
liking  for  the  '  old  rustic  language,'  but  found  in  the 
Calender  '  much  poetry  well  worthy  the  reading.'  Among 
Spenser's  intimate  friends  were  Sidney,  Ralegh,  and  Dyer, 
all  true  poets  and  men  of  wide  culture,  well  versed  in  the 
classics,  and  deeply  influenced  by  the  literature  of  France 


x  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

and  Italy.  After  the  appearance  of  The  Shepheardes 
Calender,  English  poetry  shows  a  marked  improvement. 
Spenser,  though  he  had  still  much  to  learn,  had  much  to 
teach.  Self-respecting  writers,  with  the  example  of  the 
Calender  before  them,  were  not  content  to  plod  along  in  the 
wake  of  Churchyard  and  Gascoigne.  A  glimpse  of  fairer 
pastures,  of  ampler  skies,  had  been  afforded  to  them  ;  and 
inspired  by  Spenser  they  took  heart  of  grace. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  cultivation 
of  music  contributed  largely  to  the  improvement  of  lyrical 
poetry.  A  certain  Thomas  Whithorn  in  1571  had  published 
Songes  of three,  fower  and  five  partes,  but  he  was  an  ignorant 
practitioner,  and  both  the  music  and  the  verse  of  his  collec- 
tion have  been  denounced  as  'truly  barbarous.'  In  15881 
appeared  the  first  English  song-book  of  the  famous  composer 
William  Byrd — Psalmes,  Sonets,  and  Songs.  It  is  here 
reprinted,  with  his  two  other  song-books,  Songs  of  Sundrie 
Natures,  1589,  and  Psalmes,  Songs,  and  Sonets,  161 1.  Born 
about  1538,  Byrd  was  organist  of  Lincoln  Cathedral  from 
1 563  to  1569,  and  was  appointed  on  22nd  February  1569- 
1570  Gentleman  of  the  Chapel  Royal.  He  survived  till 
1623.  Though  he  shows  a  marked  fondness  (particularly 
in  his  latest  song-book)  for  old-fashioned  moral  verses,  his 
taste  was  fairly  catholic.  In  many  cases  it  is  impossible 
to  discover  the  authors  of  the  poems  set  by  Byrd.  Noble- 
men and  gentlemen  in  Elizabeth's  days  wrote  verse  for 
their  own  amusement,  but,  whether  from  affectation  or  fear 
of  criticism,  did  not  care  to  be  known  as  poets.  Puttenham, 
writing  in  1 589,  observed  : — '  And  in  her  Maiesties  time  that 
now  is  are  sprong  up  an   other  crew  of  Courtly  makers, 

1  It  had  been  entered  in  the  Stationers'  Register,  6th  November  1587. 


Introduction  xi 

Noblemen  and  Gentlemen  of  her  Maiesties  owne  servauntes, 
who  have  written  excellently  well  as  it  would  appeare  if 
their  doings  could  be  found  out  and  made  publicke  with  the 
rest.'  Early  in  the  next  century,  Michael  Drayton  in  his 
'Epistle  to  Henry  Reynolds/  referred  contemptuously  to 
writers  who  would  not  let  their  poetry  be  printed : — 

'For  such  whose  poems,  be  they  ne'er  so  rare, 
In  private  chambers  that  encloistered  are, 
And  by  transcription  daintily  must  go 
As  though  the  world  unworthy  were  to  know 
Their  rich  composures,  let  those  men  that  keep 
These  wondrous  relics  in  their  judgment  deep 
And  cry  them  up  so,1  let  such  pieces  be 
Spoke  of  by  those  that  shall  come  after  me  ; 
I  pass  not  for  them.' 

On  the  other  hand,  Drayton's  very  learned  friend  Selden, 
who  wrote  the  annotations  to  the  Polyolbion,  cordially 
sympathised  with  these  shy  votaries  of  the  Muses.  In  his 
delightful  Table-Talk  he  declared — '  'Tis  ridiculous  for  a  lord 
to  print  verses  ;  'tis  well  enough  to  make  them  to  please  him- 
self, but  to  make  them  public  is  foolish.'  Whatever  be  the 
explanation,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  in  the 
days  of  Elizabeth  and  James  I.  not  a  few  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  who  could  have  won  literary  fame,  preferred  that 
their  poetry  should  remain  unpublished  or  should  be  issued 
anonymously.  The  old  song-books  have  preserved  many 
charming  poems  by  these  anonymous  'Courtly  makers.' 

1  I  suspect  that  Drayton  is  reflecting  particularly  on  Donne,  whose  poems 
were  widely  circulated  in  MS.  At  one  time  Donne  seems  to  have  contemplated 
issuing  a  limited  edition  of  his  poems,  '  not  for  much  public  view,  but  at  mine 
cost,  a  few  copies'  (see  E.  K.  Chambers's  bibliographical  note  in  '  Muses'  Library' 
edition  of  Donne,  vol.  I.  pp.  xxxvi.-vii);  but  the  scheme  was  abandoned. 
His  Muse  had  not  always  been  strait-laced;  and  Ben  Jonson  told  Drummond 
that  Donne  'since  he  was  made  Doctor  repenteth  highly  and  seeketh  to  destroy 
all  his  poems. ' 


xii  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

The  first  poem  in  Byrd's  earliest  collection — '  I  jcy  not 
in  no  Earthly  Bliss'  (p.  5)  is  of  unknown  authorship.  It 
may  have  been  written  in  imitation  of  '  My  Mind  to  me  a 
Kingdom  is'  (p.  8),  an  oft-quoted  poem  which  has  been 
attributed  on  good  authority  to  Sir  Edward  Dyer  (see 
Dyer's  Writings,  ed.  Grosart,  in  Miscellanies  of  the  Fuller 
Worthies  Library).  Of  unknown  authorship,  too,  are  the 
delightful  songs  '  Tho' Amaryllis  dance  in  green'  (which 
was  afterwards  included  in  England's  Helicon)  and  '  Who 
likes  to  love  let  him  take  heed.'  To  the  eccentric  Earl  of 
Oxford,  who  was  both  a  poet  and  a  patron  of  poets,  have 
been  assigned,  on  early  MS.  authority  (see  his  Poems  in 
Grosart's  Miscellanies  of  the  Fuller  Worthies  Library)  the 
stanzas  'If  women  could  be  fair  and  never  fond '  (p.  10); 
but  no  author  has  been  found  for  '  What  pleasure  have 
great  princes'  (p.  n),  one  of  the  choicest  of  old  pastoral 
songs.  The  vigorous  invective  against  Love — '  Farewell, 
false  Love,  the  oracle  of  lies'  (p.  14) — has  been  recently 
found  by  Mr.  Bertram  Dobell  in  a  sixteenth-century  MS. 
commonplace  book,  where  it  is  attributed  to  Sir  Walter 
Ralegh  and  is  stated  to  have  been  written  as  a  reply  to 
a  poem  by  Sir  Thomas  Heneage,  who  in  1589  succeeded 
Sir  Christopher  Hatton  as  Vice-Chamberlain  of  the  Queen's 
household.  In  the  same  MS.  Mr.  Dobell  found  the  quaint 
verses  beginning  '  In  fields  abroad  where  trumpets  shrill  do 
sound'  (p.  13),  but  no  author's  name  was  given.  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  know  who  wrote  the  fine  poem  '  The  Match 
that's  made  for  just  and  true  respects'  (p.  15),  which  re- 
minds me  of  Robert  Greene  at  his  best.  Mr.  Warwick  Bond 
has  claimed  for  John  Lyly  some  of  the  poems  in  Byrd's 
Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures  ;  but  Mr.  Bond's  zeal  in  cc  llecting 


Introduction  xiii 

a  quantity  of  anonymous  verse  (excellent,  indifferent,  and 
execrable)— from  song-books,  entertainments,  anthologies, 
and  MSS. — and  fathering  it  all  on  the  author  of  Euphues, 
has  surely  outrun  his  discretion.1  Some  of  the  best  poems 
in  these  Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures  were  afterwards  included 
in  England's  Helicon,  The  Christmas  song,  'From  Virgin's 
womb  this  day  did  spring'  (p.  43),  had  appeared  in  the 
Paradyse  of  Daynty  Devises,  where  it  was  ascribed  to 
Francis  Kinwelmersh  (or  Kindlemarsh),  an  Essex  gentle- 
man who  entered  Gray's  Inn  in  1557,  and  was  a  friend  of 
George  Gascoigne.  It  has  a  somewhat  antiquated  appear- 
ance among  the  brisker  measures  of  later  Elizabethan 
lyrists.  '  O  dear  Life,  when  may  it  be '  (p.  43),  is  by  Sir 
Philip  Sidney.  In  Byrd's  161 1  collection  the  poetry  is  not  up 
to  the  standard  maintained  in  his  earlier  volumes.  He  seems 
in  his  old  age  to  have  preferred  the  bald  moralising  verses 
that  had  been  popular  in  his  young  days.  The  first  piece, 
1  The  Eagle's  force,'  etc.  (p.  54),  is  found  in  Churchyard's 
Legend  of  Shore's  Wife,  but  has  been  claimed  for  Henry  VIII. 
Sir  John  Harington,  in  a  letter2  to  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales 

1  Let  me  hasten  to  add,  that  for  Mr.  Bond's  editorial  work  on  Lyly  I  have  the 
highest  admiration.  His  edition  (Lyly's  Works,  3  vols.,  1903)  is  definitive, 
and  he  has  laid  all  students  under  a  deep  debt  of  gratitude. 

2  As  the  passage  is  interesting  I  give  it  in  full : — '  As  I  have  thus  given 
your  Highnesse  a  short  ensample  of  royal  poetrie,  I  will  not  in  haste  forsake 
the  matter  and  descend  from  high  to  low  ;  but  will  now  venture  to  send  to  your 
readinge  a  special  verse  of  King  Henry  the  Eight  when  he  conceived  love 
for  Anna  Bulleign.  And  hereof  I  entertain  no  doubt  of  the  author  ;  for  if  I  had 
no  better  reason  than  the  rhyme,  it  were  sufficient  to  think  that  no  other  than 
suche  a  King  could  write  such  a  sonnet ;  but  of  this  my  father  oft  gave  me 
good  assurance,  who  was  in  his  household.  This  sonnet  was  sung  to  the  lady 
at  his  commaundment,  and  here  followeth.'  The  verses  are  of  small  account; 
in  his  commendation  of  them  Harington  writes  rather  as  a  courtier  than  as  a 
critic.     Byrd's  1588  and  161 1  volumes  are  now  reprinted  for  the  first  time. 


xiv  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

{Nugce  Antique,  i.  387),  encloses  the  stanza  as  'a  special 
verse  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  when  he  conceived  love 
for  Anna  Bulleign.'  Ilarington  had  been  assured  of  its 
genuineness  by  his  father,  who  had  been  in  Henry  Vlll.'s 
household  ;  but  in  spite  of  this  assurance  I  believe  it  to 
be  Churchyard's.  From  the  dedicatory  epistle  before 
Churchyard's  Challenge,  1593,  we  learn  that  some  malicious 
persons  had  spread  the  report  that  he  was  not  the  real 
author  of  Shore's  Wife.  Infuriated  by  these  libellous  state- 
ments, Churchyard  declares  that — had  he  been  a  younger 
man — he  would  have  challenged  his  traducers  to  open 
combat.  '  Let  not  the  sluggish  sleep '  (p.  56)  is  part  of  a 
longer  poem  appended  to  The  Play  of  Wyt  made  by  Master 
fohn  Radford,  temp.  Henry  vin.  (published  from  MS.  by 
the  Shakespeare  Society  in  1848).  'This  sweet  and  merry 
month  of  May  '  (p.  55)  is  by  Thomas  Watson,  the  sonnetteer, 
and  had  appeared  among  his  Madrigals,  1590. 

In  1588  Nicholas  Yonge,  one  of  the  singing  men  at 
St.  Paul's,  issued  Musica  Transalpina,  the  first  collection 
of  English  madrigals.  From  the  dedicatory  epistle  we 
learn  that  they  had  been  translated  from  the  Italian  in 
1583  'by  a  gentleman  for  his  private  delight.'  The  coy 
translator  was  often  urged  by  Yonge  to  allow  them  to  be 
printed,  but  would  not  consent.  A  Second  Book  followed 
in  1597-  Some  of  these  madrigals  are  choice  'relishes  of 
rhyme,'  but  others  need  the  accompaniment  of  voices  to 
render  them  tolerable. 

The  song-books  of  the  renowned  lutenist  John  Dowland, 
whose 

'heavenly  touch 
Upon  the  lute  doth  ravish  human  sense,' 


Introduction  xv 

contain  much  beautiful  poetry.  Dowland,  who  appears  to 
have  been  of  Irish  origin,  was  born  about  1562.  In  early 
manhood  he  went  abroad,  and  '  after  rambling  through  the 
chiefest  parts  of  France,  a  nation  furnished  with  great 
variety  of  music,'  made  a  stay  in  Germany,  where  he  found 
skilful  masters  and  bountiful  patrons.  Later  he  visited  the 
chief  towns  of  Italy  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
celebrated  composers  Giovanni  Croce  and  Luca  Marenzio. 
He  was  in  England  in  1588,  when  the  Mus.  Bac.  degree  at 
Oxford  was  conferred  upon  him.  His  First  Book  of  Airs 
was  published  in  1597,  with  a  dedication  to  George  Carey, 
Lord  Hunsdon.  In  the  address  to  the  reader  he  spoke 
gratefully  of  the  kindness  that  he  had  received  abroad  from 
musicians  and  music-lovers,  and  announced  '  I  am  now 
ready  to  practise  at  home  if  I  may  but  find  encouragement 
in  my  first  essays.'  But  though  his  music  was  so  greatly 
admired,  he  seems  to  have  found  a  difficulty  in  earning 
a  competent  livelihood  at  home,  and  before  1600,  when  his 
Second  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs  appeared,  he  had  become 
lutenist  to  the  King  of  Denmark.  The  publisher,  George 
Eastland,  prefixed  to  the  Second  Book  an  address  to  the 
reader,  in  which  he  declared  that  the  'charge  and  pains' 
of  publication  '  hath  exceeded  ordinary,'  and  plainly  hinted 
that  he  would  be  likely  to  lose  money  by  the  venture.  In 
1603,  when  the  Third  Book  was  published,  Dowland  was 
still  abroad.  He  visited  England  in  1605,  and  in  1609  he 
left  the  Danish  Court  to  settle  in  Fetter  Lane.  On  the 
title-page  to  his  Pilgrim's  Solace,  161 2,  he  is  described  as 
1  Lutenist  to  the  Lord  Walden '  (eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Suffolk),  to  whom  the  collection  was  dedicated.  From  the 
prefatory  address  we  learn  that  his  music  was  beginning  to 

b  11 


xvi  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

be  regarded  as  old-fashioned  and  obsolete  by  younger 
musicians.  Dowland  died  in  1625  or  1626,  leaving  a  son, 
Robert,  who  gained  some  fame  as  a  composer. 

The  poetry  that  John  Dowland  set  to  music  is  seldom 
poor  and  sometimes  supremely  beautiful.  Perhaps  the 
finest  of  all  the  poems  in  his  collections  is  the  anonymous 
'I  saw  my  lady  weep'  (p.  104).  Mr.  Bond  claims  these 
lovely  verses  for  Lyly.  He  adduces  no  evidence,  but  the 
testimony  of  the  angel  Gabriel  would  fail  to  convince  me 
that  Lyly  was  capable  of  writing  them.  Hardly  Campion, 
in  his  most  exalted  mood,  could  have  risen  to  this  height. 
I  suspect  that  they  are  by  one  of  those  amateurs  who 
sometimes  attained,  seemingly  without  effort,  a  faultless 
utterance.  Two  of  the  poems  in  the  First  Book — '  Whoever 
thinks  or  hopes  of  love  for  love'  (p.  87)  and  '  Away  with 
these  self-loving  lads  '  (p.  99) — are  by  Fulke  Greville,  Lord 
Brooke,  and  were  included  in  the  1633  collection  of  his 
Works.  An  early  MS.  copy,  preserved  at  Hamburg,  of  the 
fine  verses  (  My  Thoughts  are  winged  with  Hopes '  (p.  87), 
is  subscribed  '  W.  S.'  and  has  been  hastily  assigned  to 
Shakespeare.  In  England's  Helicon  the  poem  is  signed 
'Ignoto'1;  in  an  MS.  list  drawn  out  by  Francis  Davison, 
editor  of  the  Poetical  Rapsody,  it  is  ascribed  to  the  Earl 
of  Cumberland ;  and  Mr.  Bond,  of  course,  gives  it  to  Lyly. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  it  may  be  by  Fulke  Greville, 
though  it  was  not  included  in  his  Works.  There  seems  to 
be  absolutely  no  reason  for  seeking  to  deprive  George 
Peele  of  the  authorship  of  '  His  golden  locks  Time  hath  to 
silver  turned '  (p.  97)  ;  for  it  was  printed  in  his  Polyhymnia, 

1  Sir  Egerton  Brydges  uncritically  attributed  to  Ralegh  all  the  poems  signed 
'  Ignoto '  in  England's  Helicon. 


Introduction  xvii 

1590,  and  he  was  a  poet  of  no  mean  order.  Yet  these 
touching  stanzas  have  been  perversely  attributed  by  some 
modern  critics  to  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  by  Mr.  Bond 
to  Lyly.  Sir  Henry  Lee,  the  aged  (but  virile)  courtier, 
spoke  them  before  Queen  Elizabeth  in  November  1S90, 
when  he  formally  resigned  his  office  of  voluntary  champion. 
Thackeray,  with  apt  felicity,  quoted  the  first  stanza  in 
The  Newcomes.  A  companion  piece,  seemingly  written  for 
the  same  occasion,  is  the  curious  copy  of  verses  'Time's 
eldest  son,  Old  Age,  the  heir  of  Ease'  (p.  106),  humorous 
and  fantastic  and  pathetic,  that  would  have  brought  tears 
of  delight  to  the  eyes  of  Charles  Lamb,  but  will  provoke 
the  derision  of  dullards.  The  three  stanzas  beginning  '  It 
was  a  time  when  silly  bees  could  speak '(p.  128)  are  part 
of  a  longer  poem  that  is  found  in  many  MS.  collections. 
Mr.  Bond  has  given  a  very  full  version  (Lyly's  Works,  iii. 
494-499).  '  Its  vogue,'  he  remarks,  '  may  be  partly  attri- 
buted to  its,  I  believe,  incorrect  ascription  to  the  Earl  of 
Essex.  In  several  MSS.,  notably  in  Harl.  MS.  6910 — almost 
the  best — it  is  anonymous.'  Mr.  Bond  then  proceeds  to 
argue  that  the  author  was  Lyly.  The  poem  is  of  no 
particular  merit,  though  it  took  the  fancy  of  compilers  of 
commonplace  books ;  but,  as  one  of  Mr.  Bond's  critics 
pointed  out,  we  have  the  early  authority  of  William  Browne 
of  Tavistock  {Britannia  s  Pastorals,  Book  I.  Song  4)  for 
assigning  it  to  Essex.  In  Egerton  MS.  923  it  is  ascribed 
to  the  Earl's  Chaplain,  Henry  Cuff.  The  poem  that  follows 
in  the  song-book — '  The  lowest  trees  have  tops,  the  ant  her 
gall' — is  attributed  in  Rawlinson  MS.  148  to  Sir  Edward 
Dyer:  it  is  subscribed  '  Incerto '  in  Davison's  Poetical 
Rapsody,  1602,  where  is  also  found  an  'Answer'  beginning 


xviii  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

'  Compare  the  bramble  with  the  cedar  tree.'  In  Davison's 
MS.  'Catalogue  of  all  the  Poems  in  Rhyme  and  Measured 
Verse  by  A.  W.,'  No.  1 17,  is  '  Though  lowest  trees  have  tops, 
the  ant  her  gall — Answer  '  (Davison's  Rhapsody,  ed.  Bullen, 
I.  lxxi) ;  and  there  is  yet  another  'Answer'  in  Harl.  MS. 
6910,  fol.  153,  'The  lowest  trees  have  tops,  the  cedars 
higher.'  The  dainty  little  song,  '  What  poor  astronomers 
are  they'  (p.  129)  has  been  ascribed  to  Nicholas  Breton, 
and  is  very  much  in  his  manner,  but  I  have  not  been  able 
to  find  it  among  his  multitudinous  writings.  '  My  heart 
and  tongue  were  twins'  (p.  142)  is  from  an  entertainment 
offered  to  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Sudeley  Castle,  in  Gloucester- 
shire, when  she  visited  Lord  Chandos  there  in  1592  (see 
Nichols's  Progresses  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  ed.  2,  vol.  III.,  and 
Bond's  Lyly,  i.47 1  ,etc).  It  was  reprinted  in  England's  Helicon 
with  the  title  '  Apollo's  Love  Song  for  Fair  Daphne,'  and 
was  marked  by  the  editor  '  The  Author  thereof  unknown.' 
The  first  stanza  of  '  Sweet,  stay  awhile  !  why  will  you  rise?' 
(p.  136)  is  found  in  the  1669  edition  of  Donne's  Poems, 
where  it  is  printed  as  the  first  stanza  of  the  poem  which  in 
earlier  editions  of  Donne  had  begun  "Tis  true,  'tis  day, 
what  though  it  be'  (see  Donne's  Poems,  ed.  E.  K.  Chambers, 
i.  224).  It  may  have  been  written  in  imitation  of  Donne. 
The  poem  that  follows,  '  To  ask  for  all  thy  love  and  thy 
whole  heart'  (p.  137),  bears  clear  traces  of  Donne's  in- 
fluence. 

John  Wilbye's  madrigals  have  always  been  held  in  high 
esteem.  Professor  Arber  included  The  First  Set,  1598,  in 
the  Garner.  Particularly  charming  are,  '  Lady,  when  I 
behold  the  roses  sprouting'  (p.  148),  paraphrased  from  an 
Italian  madrigal  of  Celiano,  and  '  Thus  saith  my  Chloris 


Introduction  xix 

bright'  (p.  148),  paraphrased  from  Guarini.1  '  What  needeth 
all  this  travail  and  turmoiling'  (p.  147),  may  be  compared 
with  Spenser's  fifteenth  sonnet,  'Ye  tradeful  merchants  that 
with  weary  toil.'  Both  pieces  are  paraphrased  from  the 
sonnet  of  Philippe  Desportes  beginning,  'Marchans,  qui 
traversez  tout  le  rivage  More.'  Wilbye  published  a  Second 
Set  of  Madrigals  in  1609. 

There  is  good  verse  in  Thomas  Morley's  collections;  but 
the  poetical  merit  of  his  Triumphs  of  Oriana  (pp.  153-164), 
1600,  madrigals  (set  by  various  composers)  in  honour  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  is  very  slender.  Richard  Alison,  who 
published  in  1606  An  Howres  Recreation  in  Music,  appre- 
ciated Campion's  songs,  for  he  included  three  of  them 
(with  Campion's  leave  or  without)  in  his  collection.  The 
stanzas  '  O  heavy  heart,'  etc.  (p.  264),  were  drawn  from 
A  Gorgious  Gallery  of  Gallant  Inventions,  1578;  and  'My 
prime  of  youth'  (p.  266)  is  supposed  to  have  been  written 
by  Chidiock  Tychbourne  on  the  eve  of  his  execution 
in  1586. 

While  Byrd,  Dowland,  and  other  famous  Elizabethan 
composers  wrote  only  the  music  for  their  songs,  Thomas 
Campion  wrote  both  the  poetry  and  the  music.  He 
seems  to  have  studied  originally  for  the  bar,  but  he  soon 
abandoned  law  for  medicine  and  became  a  physician  of 
some  standing.  In  1595  he  published  an  excessively  rare 
volume  of  Latin  verse,  Thomcs  Campiani  Poemata,  which 
was  reprinted  with  many  additions  and  a  few  omissions 
in  1619.     The  1595   edition  has  a  glowing  eulogy  of  John 

1  Another  version  of  Guarini's  madrigal  had  appeared  in  the  Second  Book  of 
Mil  sic  a  Transalpina,  1597.  See  my  anthology,  Lyrics  from  Elizabethan  Song- 
books,  1897,  p.  71. 

11  b2 


xx  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

Dowland,  but  this  was  omitted  in  the  later  edition  ;  and  I 

fear  that  they  became  estranged  in  after  years.     Campion's 

bewitching   song,  'Hark1   all    you    ladies   that   do  sleep' 

was    in    print    as   early   as    1591    among    the    poems   'of 

Sundrie    other    Noblemen    and    Gentlemen '    annexed    to 

Newman's  surreptitious  edition  of  Sidney's  Astrophel  and 

Stella.     George  Peele  in  his  Honour  of  the    Garter,   1593, 

addressed  him  as 

'thou 
That  richly  clothest  conceit  in  well-made  words' ; 

and  three  of  his  English  songs  are  found  in  an  MS.  dated 
1596  (Harl.  MS.  6910).  The  first  collection  of  his  songs, 
A  Book  of  Airs,  appeared  in  1601,  with  music  written  partly 
by  himself  and  partly  by  his  friend  Philip  Rosseter.  In 
the  address  to  the  reader  he  modestly  describes  his  songs 
as  'ear-pleasing  rhymes  without  art,'  but  their  artless  grace 

1  I  suspect  that  the  two  pieces  which  follow  'Hark  all  you  ladies'  in 
Newman's  volume  are  also  by  Campion,  though  he  never  claimed  them. 
'  What  fair  pomp  have  I  spied  of  glittering  Ladies,'  a  delightful  piece,  is  one 
of  those  metrical  experiments  in  which  he  took  so  much  pleasure.  It  evidently 
belongs  to  some  unknown  masque.     The  second  piece  runs  thus  : — 

'  My  love  bound  me  with  a  kiss 
That  I  should  no  longer  stay  : 
When  I  felt  so  sweet  a  bliss 
I  had  less  power  to  pass  away. 
Alas  that  women  do  not  know 
Kisses  make  men  loth  to  go.' 

This  is  set  to  music,  with  three  more  stanzas,  in  Robert  Jones'  Second  Book  of 
Songs  and  Airs  (and  is  included  in  my  Lyrics  from  Elizabethan  Song-books, 
1S97,  p.  18).     Let  the  reader  compare  Campion's  Latin  epigram : 

'  In  Melleam. 
Mcllea  mi  si  abeam  promittit  basia  septem  ; 

Basia  dat  septem,  nee  minus  inde  moror  ; 
Euge,  licet  vafras  fugit  hasc  fraus  una  puellas, 

Basia  majores  ingerere  usque  moras.' 

One  cannot  resist  the  conclusion  that  the  Latin  epigram  and  the  English  song 
are  from  the  same  hand. 


Introduction  xxi 

was  the  perfection  of  artistry.  While  some  of  his  poems 
charm  by  their  light  and  easy  elegance,  others  are  dis- 
tinguished by  richness  of  diction  and  warmth  of  imagina- 
tion. Few  poets  have  used  so  great  a  variety  of  metres  as 
Campion ;  he  handled  simple  and  intricate  measures  with 
equal  facility.  Yet  he  was  not  satisfied  with  producing  his 
'ear-pleasing  rhymes,'  and  in  1602  published  a  treatise, 
Observations  in  the  Art  of  English  Poesy,  in  which  he 
advocated  that  rhyme  should  be  abandoned  and  that 
unrhymed  metres  formed  on  classical  models  should  be 
adopted.  He  gives  several  specimen  poems  that  he  had 
written  in  unrhymed  metres.  In  many  instances  these 
specimens  are  merely  curiosities  of  literature,  but  of  singular 
beauty  is  the  little  poem  beginning  'Rose-cheeked  Laura, 
come'  (Campion's  Works,  ed.  Bullen,  1903,  p.  258).  In  the 
same  year  Samuel  Daniel  published  his  Defence  of  Rhyme, 
in  which  he  expressed  surprise  that  an  attack  on  rhyme 
should  have  been  made  by  one  '  whose  commendable 
rhymes,  albeit  now  himself  an  enemy  to  rhyme,  have  given 
heretofore  to  the  world  the  best  notice  of  his  worth.'  Ben 
Jonson  (as  we  learn  from  his  Conversations  with  Drmnmond 
of  Haivthomderi)  wrote  a  Discourse  of  Poesy — which  was 
never  published — 'both  against  Campion  and  Daniel.' 
Campion  soon  resumed  the  use  of  rhyme.  In  1607  he 
published  his  first  masque,  written  on  the  occasion  of  the 
marriage  of  Sir  James  Hay  and  performed  before  the  king 
on  Twelfth  Night,  1606-7.  *n  l^1S  he  prepared  three 
masques,  one  for  the  marriage  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth, 
another  for  the  queen's  entertainment  at  Cawsome  [Cavers- 
ham]  House,  near  Reading,  and  the  third  for  the  ill-omened 
marriage  of  the  Earl  of  Somerset.     In  all  these  masques 


xxii  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

Campion's  gifts  of  lively  and  ingenious  invention  are  shown 
to  good  advantage,  and  songs  of  rare  beauty  are  inter- 
spersed. His  second  collection  of  songs,  Two  Books  of 
Airs,  is  undated,  but  must  have  been  issued  after  November 
1 612  (probably  in  1613),  for  one  song  (p.  208)  has  a  reference 
to  the  death  of  Prince  Henry.  The  Third  and  Fourth, 
also  undated,  appeared  soon  after  1617.  In  the  dedicatory 
epistle  Campion  congratulates  his  patron,  Sir  Thomas 
Monson,  on  the  fact  that 

'  those  clouds  that  lately  overcast 
Your  fame  and  fortune  are  dispersed  at  last.' 

Monson  had  been  committed  to  the  Tower  (where  Campion 
attended  him  professionally)  in  December  161 5  on  suspicions 
of  complicity  in  the  murder  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury.  He 
was  released  on  bail  in  October  1616,  and  was  finally 
'  pardoned '  in  the  following  February. 

Campion  died  on  1st  March  1619-20  in  the  parish  of 
St.  Martin's  in  the  West,  having  on  that  day  executed  a 
nuncupative  will  by  which  he  left  '  all  that  he  had  unto 
Mr.  Philip  Rosseter  and  wished  that  his  estate  had  bin  farre 
more.'     The  value  of  the  estate  was  twenty-two  pounds. 

Of  recent  years  Campion's  poetry,  which  was  long 
neglected,  has  come  prominently  into  notice.  He  was  a 
most  skilful  artist,  with  a  Greek  sense  of  form.  Well  aware 
of  his  limitations  he  never  attempted  a  task  that  was  beyond 
him.  In  his  delightful  apology  at  the  end  of  the  1607 
masque  he  declared  that,  while  others  might  cultivate 
tragedy  and  epic,  he  was  content  to  write  'smooth  and 
gentle  verse'  to  charm  the  ears  of  ladies  : — 

'  Let  the  tragic  poem  swell, 
Raising  raging  fiends  from  hell  ; 


Introduction  xxiii 

And  let  epic  dactyls  range 
Swelling  seas  and  countries  strange  : 
Little  room  small  things  contains  ; 
Easy  praise  quites  easy  pains. 
Suffer  them  whose  brows  do  sweat 
To  gain  honour  by  the  great  i1 
It's  enough  if  men  me  name 
A  retailer  of  the  same.' 

Among  the 'little  masters 'of  the  Elizabethan  age  he  has 
no  superior. 

Of  the  song-books  not  included  by  Professor  Arber  in 
the  Garner  the  most  interesting  are  Robert  Jones's  various 
Books  of  Airs,  ranging  from  1601  to  161 1.  Jones's  fifth 
book,  The  Muses  Gardin  for  Delights,  long  lay  hidden  ;  but 
a  year  or  two  ago  Mr.  Barclay  Squire  found  a  copy  in  the 
library  at  Stafford  House  and  reprinted  the  poetry  (in  1901) 
at  the  private  printing  press  of  Rev.  C.  H.  Daniel,  now 
Provost  of  Worcester  College,  Oxford.  Beloe  had  extracted 
the  best  poems,  but  it  is  well  to  have  a  complete  reprint. 
In  preparing  my  anthologies,  Lyrics  from  Elizabethan  Song- 
books  and  More  Lyrics,  I  went  through  all  the  song-books 
that  I  could  find  and  made  extracts  from  sixty  collections.2 
Recently  Miss  Janet  Dodge  has  published  Twelve  Eliza- 
bethan Songs  (1902),  giving  good  examples  not  only  of  the 
poetry,  but  of  the  music  of  the  old  song-books. 

Leaving  the  song-books  we  come  to  a  copious  collection 
(pp.  269-310)  of  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  century  posies. 
Taken  a  few  at  a  time,  these  suckets  have  a  pleasant  relish. 
The  quaint  title  of  the  1624  volume  runs  : — Love's  Garland : 
or  Posies  for  Rings,  Handkerchers  and  Gloves ;  and  such 

1  '  by  the  great ' — wholesale. 

2  Some  of  the  songs  that  I  gave  were  from  MS.  collections  and  had  not 
previously  been  printed.    Now  they  have  found  their  way  into  many  anthologies. 


xx/v  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

pretty  Tckens  as  Lovers  send  their  Loves.  Read,  Skan,  then 
Judge.  A  rustic  suitor  sending  a  girdle  or  a  present  of 
gloves  to  his  sweetheart  would  turn  to  his  book  of  posies 
and  select  some  appropriate  verses  to  accompany  the  gift. 
A  village  maid  would  embroider  a  scarf  for  her  lover  with 
some  affectionate  greeting  drawn  from  its  pages,  e.g. — 

'She  that  of  all  doth  love  thee  dearest 
Doth  send  thee  this  ;  which  as  thou  wearest, 
And  oft  does  look  on,  think  on  me 
As  I  by  thine  do  think  on  thee.' 

Many  are  brief  true-love  mottoes  for  rings  : — '  In  trust  be 
just/  'If  thou  deny  I  wish  to  die,'  'No  bitter  smart  can 
change  my  heart,'  etc.  Our  Christmas  bon-bon  rhymes  are 
a  poor  survival  of  the  old  posies. 

A  group  of  shorter  poems  follows,  ranging  from  the 
Elizabethan  time  to  the  days  of  Charles  II.  '  What  cunning 
can  express'  (p.  313)  shows  the  Earl  of  Oxford  at  his  best, 
and  '  Rosalynd's  Madrigal '  (p.  315)  is  among  the  daintiest 
of  Thomas  Lodge's  lyrics.  The  authorship  of  the  ever- 
welcome  '  Phyllada  flouts  me' (p.  317)  remains  a  mystery. 
Professor  Arber's  text  is  from  Mennes'  and  Smith's 
Musarum  DelicicE,  1655,  but  the  poem  is  at  least  half  a  cen- 
tury older.  Ben  Jonson's  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid (p.  321) 
is  from  the  masque  performed  at  Court  on  Shrove  Tuesday, 
1607-8,  for  the  marriage  of  Lord  Haddington.  It  is 
modelled,  like  Tasso's  Amore  Fugitivo,  on  Moschus'  first 
Idyllium  (which  was  also  imitated  by  Spenser  in  Faerie 
Queene,  Book  IV.  Canto  vi.).  The  fairy-poem  '  King 
Oberon's  Apparel'  (p.  325),  from  Musarum  Delicics,  was 
written  in  1626-7  by  Robert  Herrick's  friend  Sir  Simeon 
Steward,  and  first  appeared  in  a  booklet  entitled  A  Descrip- 


Introduction  xxv 

tion  of  the  King  and  Queen e  of  Fayries,  1635  (A.  W. 
Pollard's  Herrick,  Appendix  II.  vol.  ii.  pp.  323-327).  '  I 
loved  a  lass,  a  fair  one'  (p.  327)  was  attributed  in  Warton's 
Companion  to  the  Oxford  Guide  to  John  Taylor  the  water- 
poet,  but  it  is  certainly  too  good  for  Taylor.  Hearne 
quoted  the  third  stanza  as  Wither's ;  and  Mr.  Frank 
Sidgwick  has  not  hesitated  to  include  the  song  in  The 
Poetry  of  George  Wither  (1903,  ii.  148-152).  It  first  appeared 
in  A  Description  of  Love1  (of  which  the  sixth  edition  is 
dated  1629),  where  was  published  'Master  Johnson's2  Answer' 
to  Wither's  'Shall  I  wasting  in  despair?'  If  the  song  be 
Wither's,  as  I  believe  it  to  be,  it  was  written  before  he  left 
Oxford.  Cowley,  the  idol  of  his  age,  but  now  read  only  by 
the  few,  is  here  represented  by  his  sprightly  '  Chronicle,' 
those  mellow  stanzas  'The  Wish,'  and  the  rollicking 
fantastic  ode  'Sitting  and  drinking  in  the  chair3  made  out 
of  the  Relics  of  Sir  Francis  Drake's  ship.'  Andrew  Mar- 
veil's  'Bermudas'  and  'The  Garden'  (pp.  340-4)  are  two 
imperishable  poems,  of  haunting  beauty.  We  descend  to 
the  lower  slopes  of  Parnassus  when  we  turn  from  Marvell's 
masterpieces  to  the  songs  of  Sir  Charles  Sedley  (pp.  348-350); 
but  for  briskness,  gaiety,  and  saucy  invention  the  best  of 
Sedley's  songs  have  seldom  been  excelled.  Charles  Cotton, 
a  man  of  many  accomplishments,  brings  our  volume  to 
a   close   with    his    fine   stanzas    on   'Winter'   (pp.    351-8). 

1  I  have  not  seen  an  edition  earlier  than  that  of  1629.  The  first  edition  was 
issued  in  1620. 

2  Not  Ben  Jonson,  but  Richard  Johnson,  the  compiler  of  Garlands. 

5  In  the  Bodleian  Library  may  still  be  seen  a  chair  made  from  fragments  of 
Drake's  ship  'The  Golden  Hind.'  For  many  years  the  ship  was  preserved  at 
Deptford,  and  supper  parties  used  to  be  held  on  it.  A  tradition  lingers  in 
Deptford  that  Christopher  Marlowe  was  slain  on  board  '  The  Golden  Hind  ' 
after  a  drinking  bout. 


xxvi  Shorter  Elizabethan  Poems 

Wordsworth  and  Charles  Lamb  have  recorded  their  ad- 
miration of  this  poem.1  In  the  preface  to  the  1815 
collection  of  Poems:  including  Lyrical  Ballads,  Wordsworth 
wrote: — 'Finally  I  will  refer  to  Cotton's  "Ode  upon 
Winter,"  an  admirable  composition,  though  stained  with 
some  peculiarities  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  for  a 
general  illustration  of  the  characteristics  of  Fancy.'  He 
bids  the  reader  note  the  'profusion  of  fanciful  comparisons, 
which  indicate  on  the  part  of  the  poet  extreme  activity  of 
intellect,  and  a  correspondent  hurry  of  delightful  feeling'; 
and  he  ends  his  generous  eulogium  by  quoting  several 
stanzas.  The  shade  of  honest  hearty  Mr.  Cotton  must 
surely  have  been  gratified  by  this  tribute  from  the  pen  of 
'him  who  uttered  nothing  base.'  A.  H.  B. 


1  Coleridge,  too,  admired  Cotton's  poetry.  In  Biographia  Literaria  (ii.  96) 
he  writes: — 'There  are  not  a  few  of  his  poems  replete  with  every  excellence 
of  thought,  images,  and  passions,  which  we  expect  or  desire  in  the  milder  Muse.' 


'Psa/ms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs  of 
Sadness  and  'Piety. 

By  William   Byrd,  one  of  the 

gentlemen  of  the  Queen's  Majesty's 

honorable  Chapel. 

i588. 


11 


William  Byrd's  First  Book 

II  Reasons  briefly  set  down  by  the  author,  to  persuade 
every  one  to  learn  to  sing. 

Irst  it  is  a  knowledge  easily  taught,  and  quickly 
learned  ;  where  there  is  a  good  master,  and  an 
apt  scholar. 

2.  The  exercise   of  singing  is  delightful  to 
Nature,   and  good  to  preserve  the  health  of  man. 

3.  It  doth  strengthen  all  the  parts  of  the  breast,  and  doth 
open  the  pipes. 

4.  It  is  a  singular  good  remedy  for  a  stutt[er]ing  and 
stammering  in  the  speech. 

5.  It  is  the  best  means  to  procure  a  perfect  pronuncia- 
tion, and  to  make  a  good  orator. 

6.  It  is  the  only  way  to  know  where  Nature  hath  bestowed 
the  benefit  of  a  good  voice ;  which  gift  is  so  rare,  as  there  is 
not  one  among  a  thousand  that  hath  it  :  and  in  many,  that 
excellent  gift  is  lost,  because  they  want  Art  to  express 
Nature. 

7.  There  is  not  any  music  of  instruments  whatsoever  com- 
parable to  that  which  is  made  of  the  voices  of  men  ;  where 
the  voices  are  good,  and  the  same  well  sorted  or  ordered. 

8.  The  better  the  voice  is,  the  meeter  it  is  to  honour  and 
serve  GOD  therewith  :  and  the  voice  of  man  is  chiefly  to  be 
employed  to  that  end. 

Omnis  spiritus  laudet  DOMINUM  I 

Since  singing  is  so  good  a  thing, 
I  wish  all  men  would  learn  to  sing. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs. 


TO    THE   RIGHT   HONOURABLE 

Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  Knight, 

Lord  Chancellor  of  England ; 

William   Byrd  wisheth  long  life,  and  the  same 

to  be  most  healthy  and  happy. 

He  often  desires  of  many  my  good  friends,  Right 
Honourable !  and  the  consideration  of  many  untrue  in- 
corrected  copies  of  divers  of  my  Songs  spread  abroad; 
have  been  the  two  causes  chiefly  moving  my  consent,  at 
length,  to  put  in  print  the  fruits  of  my  small  skill  and  labours  in 
Music.  Then  the  duty,  honour  and  service  due  from  me  unto  your 
Lordship,  together  with  the  remembrance  of  your  judgement  and 
love  of  that  art,  did  move  and  embolden  me  to  present  this  first 
printed  work  of  mine  in  English,  to  pass  under  your  Lordship's 
favour  and  protection  ;  unworthy  I  confess,  of  the  view  or  patronage 
of  so  worthy  a  personage.  Yet  remembering  that  small  things  some- 
times do  great  service,  and  that  repose  is  best  tasted  by  bodies  fore- 
wearied  :  I  hoped  that,  by  this  occasion,  these  poor  Songs  of  mine 
might  happily  yield  some  sweetness,  repose,  and  recreation  unto 
your  Lordship's  mind,  after  your  daily  pains  and  cares  taken  in 
the  high  affairs  of  the  common  wealth. 

Most  humbly  beseeching  your  Lordship,  that  if  my  boldness 
herein  be  faulty,  my  dutiful  good  will  and  good  meaning  may 
excuse  it :  which,  if  I  may  so  fortunately  perceive,  it  shall  en- 
courage me  to  suffer  some  other  things  of  more  depth  and  skill  to 
follow  these  ;  which  being  not  yet  finished,  are  of  divers  expected 
and  desired.  Incessantly  beseeching  our  LORD  to  make  your 
years  happy  and  end  blessed,  I  wish  there  were  anything  in  me 
worthy  of  your  Lordship  to  be  commanded. 

Most  humbly,  your  Lordship's  ever  to  command, 

William  Byrd. 


William  Byrd's  First  Book 


THE    EPISTLE    TO    THE    READER. 

Enign  Reader!  Here  is  offered  unto  thy  courteous 
acceptance !  Music  of  sundry  sorts,  and  to  content  divers 
humours.  If  thou  be  disposed  to  pray,  here  are  Psalms! 
if  to  be  merry,  here  are  Sonnets!  if  to  lament  for  thy 
sins,  here  are  Songs  of  Sadness  and  Piety  !  if  thou  delight  in 
music  of  great  compass,  here  are  divers  songs,  which  being 
originally  made  for  instruments  to  express  the  harmony  and  one 
voice  to  pronounce  the  ditty,  are  now  framed,  in  all  parts  for  voices 
to  sing  the  same!  If  thou  desire  songs  of  small  compass  and  fit 
for  the  reach  of  most  voices :  here  are  most  in  number  of  that  sort! 
Whatsoever  pains  I  have  taken  herein,  I  shall  think  to  be  well  em- 
ployed; if  the  same  be  well  accepted,  music  thereby  the  better  loved, 
and  the  more  exercised. 

In  the  expressing  of  these  Songs,  either  by  voices  or  instruments, 
if  there  happen  to  be  any  jar  or  disonance,  blame  not  the  printer ! 
who,  I  do  assure  thee,  through  his  great  pains  and  diligence,  doth 
here  deliver  to  thee  a  perfect  and  true  copy.  If  in  the  composition  of 
these  Songs,  there  be  any  fault  by  me  committed,  I  desire  the  skil- 
ful, either  with  courtesy  to  let  the  same  be  concealed;  or  in  friendly 
sort,  to  be  thereof  admonished  ;  and  at  the  next  impression  he  shall 
find  the  error  reformed;  remembering  always,  that  it  is  more  easy 
to  find  afaidt  than  to  amend  it. 

If  thou  find  anything  here  worthy  of  liking  and  commendation, 
give  praise  unto  GOD,  from  Whom,  as  from  a  most  pure  and 
plentiful  fountain,  all  good  gifts  of  science  do  flow  :  Whose 
Name  be  glorified  for  ever. 

The  most  assured  friend  to  all  that  love  or  learn  Music, 

William  Byrd. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs. 


S  0  N  H  E  T  jS     AND     Pa$TOF(AJL$. 


Joy  not  in  no  earthly  bliss, 
I  force  not  Crgesus'  wealth  a  straw 
For  care,  I  know  not  what  it  is, 
I  fear  not  Fortune's  fatal  law. 
My  mind  is  such  as  may  not  move, 
For  beauty  bright  nor  force  of  love. 


I  wish  but  what  I  have  at  will, 
I  wander  not  to  seek  for  more. 
I  like  the  plain,  I  climb  no  hill, 
In  greatest  storms,  I  sit  on  shore 
And  laugh  at  them  that  toil  in  vain, 
To  get  what  must  be  lost  again. 

I  kiss  not  where  I  wish  to  kill, 
I  fain  not  love,  where  most  I  hate  : 
I  break  no  sleep  to  win  my  will,, 
I  wait  not  at  the  mighty's  gate  : 
I  scorn  no  poor,  nor  fear  no  rich; 
I  feel  no  want,  nor  have  too  much. 


The  Court  and  cart  I  like,  nor  loath 
Extremes  are  counted  worst  of  all ; 
The  golden  mean,  between  them  both, 
Doth  surest  sit  and  fears  no  fall. 
This  is  my  choice,  for  why  ?  I  find 
No  wealth  is  like  the  quiet  mind. 


William  Byrd's  First  Book 


Hough  Amarillis  dance  in  green 
Like  Fairy  Queen, 
And  sing  full  clear  ; 
Corinna  can  with  smiling,  cheer. 
Yet  since  their  eyes  make  heart  so  sore, 
chij^iwiu.     Hey  ho  !  chil  love  no  more. 

My  sheep  are  lost  for  want  of  food 

And  I  so  wood, 

That  all  the  day 
I  sit  and  watch  a  herd-maid  gay  ; 
Who  laughs  to  see  me  sigh  so  sore, 
Hey  ho  !  chil  love  no  more. 

Her  loving  looks,  her  beauty  bright, 

Is  such  delight ; 

That  all  in  vain, 
I  love  to  like,  and  lose  my  gain 
For  her,  that  thanks  me  not  therefore  ; 
Hey  ho  !  chil  love  no  more. 

Ah,  wanton  eyes !  my  friendly  foes 

And  cause  of  woes ; 

Your  sweet  desire 
Breeds  flames  of  ice,  and  freeze  in  fire : 
Ye  scorn  to  see  me  weep  so  sore, 
Hey  ho  !  chil  love  no  more. 

Love  ye  who  list,  I  force  him  not, 

Sith  God  it  wot, 

The  more  I  wail, 
The  less  my  sighs  and  tears  prevail  : 
What  shall  I  do  ?  but  say  therefore, 
Hey  ho  1  chil  love  no  more. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs. 


Ho  likes  to  love,  let  him  take  heed, 

And  wot  you  why  ? 
|  Among  the  gods,  it  is  decreed 

That  Love  shall  die  ; 
And  every  wight  that  takes  his  part, 
Shall  forfeit  each,  a  mourning  heart. 

The  cause  is  this,  as  I  have  heard, 

A  sort  of  dames, 
Whose  beauty  he  did  not  regard, 

Nor  secret  flames, 
Complained  before  the  gods  above, 
That  gold  corrupts  the  god  of  love. 

The  gods  did  storm  to  hear  this  news, 

And  there  they  swore  ; 
That  sith  he  did  such  dames  abuse, 

He  should  no  more 
Be  god  of  love,  but  that  he  should 
Both  die,  and  forfeit  all  his  gold. 

His  bow  and  shafts  they  took  away, 

Before  his  eyes ; 
And  gave  these  dames  a  longer  day 

For  to  devise 
Who  should  them  keep;  and  they  be  bound, 
That  love  for  gold  should  not  be  found. 

These  ladies  striving  long,  at  last 

They  did  agree 
To  give  them  to  a  maiden  chaste, 

Whom  I  did  see  ; 
Who  with  the  same,  did  pierce  my  breast: 
Her  beauty's  rare ;  and  so  I  rest. 


William  Byrd's  First  Book 


Y  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is, 

Such  perfect  joy  therein  I  find. 

That  it  excels  all  other  bliss, 

That  GOD  or  Nature  hath  assigned  ; 

Though  much  I  want,  that  most  would  have  ; 

Yet  still  my  mind  forbids  to  crave. 

No  princely  port,  nor  wealthy  store, 
No  force  to  win  a  victory, 
No  wily  wit  to  salve  a  sore, 
No  shape  to  win  a  loving  eye  : 
To  none  of  these,  I  yield  as  thrall, 
For  why  ?  My  mind  despise  them  all. 

I  see  that  plenty  surfeits  oft, 
And  hasty  climbers  soonest  fall ; 
I  see  that  such  as  are  aloft, 
Mishap  doth  threaten  most  of  all : 
These  get  with  toil,  and  keep  with  fear, 
Such  cares  my  mind  can  never  bear. 

I  press  to  bear  no  haughty  sway, 
I  wish  no  more  than  may  suffice ; 
I  do  no  more  than  well  I  may, 
Look  what  I  want,  my  mind  supplies  : 
Lo  thus,  I  triumph  like  a  king, 
My  mind  content  with  anything. 

I  laugh  not  at  another's  loss, 
Nor  grudge  not  at  another's  gain, 
No  worldly  waves  my  mind  can  toss, 
I  brook  that  is  another's  bane, 
I  fear  no  foe,  nor  fawn  on  friend ; 
I  loath  not  life,  nor  dread  mine  end. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  9 

My  wealth  is  health,  and  perfect  ease ; 
And  conscience  clear,  my  chief  defence  : 
I  never  seek,  by  bribes  to  please, 
Nor  by  desert,  to  give  offence  : 
Thus  do  I  live  !  thus  will  I  die! 
Would  all  did  so,  as  well  as  I  !     [Sir  Edward  Dyer.] 


Here  Fancy  fond,  for  Pleasure  pleads, 
And  Reason  keeps  poor  Hope  in  gaol : 
There  time  it  is  to  take  my  beads, 
And  pray  that  Beauty  may  prevail ; 
Or  else  Despair  will  win  the  field, 
Where  Reason,  Hope  and  Pleasure  yield. 

My  eyes  presume  to  judge  this  case, 
Whose  judgement,  Reason  doth  disdain  ; 
But  Beauty  with  her  wanton  face, 
Stands  to  defend,  the  case  is  plain : 
And  at  the  bar  of  sweet  delight, 
She  pleads  "  that  Fancy  must  be  right." 

But  Shame  will  not  have  Reason  yield, 
Though  Grief  do  swear  it  shall  be  so  ; 
As  though  it  were  a  perfect  shield, 
To  blush,  and  fear  to  tell  my  woe  : 
Where  Silence  force  will,  at  the  last, 
To  wish  for  wit,  when  hope  is  past. 

So  far  hath  fond  Desire  outrun 
The  bond  which  Reason  set  out  first ; 
That  where  Delight  the  fray  begun 
I  would  now  say,  if  that  I  durst, 
That  in  her  stead,  ten  thousand  Woes 
Have  sprung  in  field  where  Pleasure  grows. 


io  William  Byrd's  First  Book 

0  that  I  might  declare  the  rest, 
Of  all  the  toys  which  Fancy  turns  ; 
Like  towers  of  wind  within  my  breast. 
Where  fire  is  hid  that  never  burns  : 
Then  should  I  try  one  of  the  twain, 
Either  to  love,  or  to  disdain. 

But  fine  conceit  dares  not  declare 
The  strange  conflict  of  hope  and  fear : 
Lest  Reason  should  be  left  so  bare, 
That  love  durst  whisper  in  mine  ear ; 
And  tell  me  "  how  my  Fancy  shall 
Bring  Reason  to  be  Beauty's  thrall." 

1  must  therefore,  with  silence,  build 
The  labyrinth  of  my  delight ; 

Till  love  have  tried  in  open  field, 
Which  of  the  twain  shall  win  the  fight 
I  fear  me  Reason  must  give  place ; 
If  Fancy  fond,  win  Beauty's  grace. 


F  women  could  be  fair  and  never  fond, 
Or  that  their  beauty  might  continue  still : 
I  would  not  marvel  though  they  made  men  bond, 
By  service  long,  to  purchase  their  goodwill  : 
But  when  I  see  how  frail  these  creatures  are, 
I  laugh  that  men  forget  themselves  so  far ! 

To  mark  what  choice  they  make,  and  how  they  change; 
How  leaving  best,  the  worst  they  chose  out  still ; 
And  how  like  haggards  wild,  about  they  range, 
Scorning  after  reason  to  follow  will : 

Who  would  not  shake  such  bussards  from  the  fist ; 

And  let  them  fly,  fair  fools  !  which  way  they  list  ? 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  i  i 

Yet  for  our  sport,  we  fawn  and  flatter  both, 

To  pass  the  time,  when  nothing  else  can  please  ; 

And  train  them  on  to  yield,  by  subtle  oath, 

The  sweet  content,  that  gives  such  humour  ease: 

And  then  we  say,  when  we  their  follies  try, 

"  To  play  with  fools  ;  O  what  a  fool  was  I ! "  [Edward, 

Earl  of  Oxford.] 

jIMbitious  love  hath  forced  me  to  aspire 
The  beauties  rare  which  do  adorn  thy  face  ! 
Thy  modest  life  yet  bridles  my  desire, 
Whose  severe  law  doth  promise  me  no  grace ! 

But  what!  May  Love  live  under  any  law  ? 

No  !  no  !  His  power  exceedeth  man's  conceit : 

Of  which  the  gods  themselves  do  stand  in  awe ; 

For  on  his  frown,  a  thousand  torments  wait. 

Proceed  then  in  this  desperate  enterprise,  with  good  advise  ! 

Andfollow  Love  thy  guide  that  leads  thee  to  thy  wished  paradise' 

Thy  climbing  thoughts,  this  comfort  take  withal  ! 

That  if  it  be  thy  foul  disgrace  to  slide, 

Thy  brave  attempt  shall  yet  excuse  thy  fall. 


Hat  pleasure  have  great  princes, 

More  dainty  to  their  choice, 

Than  herdsmen  wild  ?  who  careless, 

In  quiet  life  rejoice; 

And  fortune's  fate  not  fearing, 

Sing  sweet  in  summer  morning. 

Their  dealings  plain  and  rightful, 
Are  void  of  all  deceit ; 
They  never  know  how  spiteful, 
It  is  to  kneel  and  wait 
On  favourite  presumptuous, 
Whose  pride  is  vain  and  sumptuous. 


12  William  Byrd's  First  Book 

All  day  their  flocks  each  tendeth; 
At  night,  they  take  their  rest ; 
More  quiet  than  who  sendeth 
His  ship  into  the  East, 
Where  gold  and  pearl  are  plenty ; 
But  getting,  very  dainty. 

For  lawyers  and  their  pleading, 
They  'steem  it  not  a  straw ; 
They  think  that  honest  meaning 
Is  of  itself  a  law : 
Whence  conscience  judgeth  plainly, 
They  spend  no  money  vainly. 

O  happy  who  thus  liveth  ! 
Not  caring  much  for  gold  ; 
With  clothing  which  sufficeth 
To  keep  him  from  the  cold. 
Though  poor  and  plain  his  diet ; 
Yet  merry  it  is,  and  quiet. 


S  I  beheld,  I  saw  a  herdsman  wild, 
With  his  sheephook,  a  picture  fine  deface ; 
Which  he  sometime,  his  fancy  too  beguiled, 
Had  carved  on  bark  of  beech,  in  secret  place  : 
And  with  despite  of  most  afflicted  mind, 
Through  deep  despair  of  heart,  for  love  dismayed ; 
He  pulled  even  from  the  tree,  the  carved  rind, 
And  weeping  sore,  these  woeful  words  he  said. 

"  Ah  Philida!  would  God,  thy  picture  fair, 
I  could  as  lightly  blot  out  of  my  breast; 
Then  should  I  not  thus  rage  with  great  despite, 
And  tear  the  thing,  sometime  I  liked  best. 
But  all  in  vain.     It  booteth  not,  God  wot ! 
What  printed  is  in  heart,  on  tree  to  blot." 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  13 

Lthough  the  heathen  poets  did  Apollo  famous  praise, 
As  one  who  for  his  music  sweet,  no  peer  had  in  his 
days. 


N  fields  abroad,  where  trumpets  shrill  do  sound, 
Where  glaves  and  shields  do  give  and  take  the  knocks ; 
Where  bodies  dead  do  overspread  the  ground, 
And  friends  to  foes,  are  common  butcher's  blocks  ; 
A  gallant  shot,  well  managing  his  piece, 
In  my  conceit  deserves  a  golden  fleece. 


Amid  the  seas,  a  gallant  ship  set  out, 
Wherein  nor  men  nor  yet  munition  lacks  ; 
In  greatest  winds,  that  spareth  not  a  clout, 
But  cuts  the  waves,  in  spite  of  weather's  wracks  ; 
Would  force  a  swain,  that  comes  of  coward's  kind, 
To  change  himself,  and  be  of  noble  mind. 


Who  makes  his  seat  a  stately  stamping  steed, 
Whose  neighs  and  plays  are  princely  to  behold  ; 
Whose  courage  stout,  whose  eyes  are  fiery  red, 
Whose  joints  well  knit,  whose  harness  all  of  gold  ; 
Doth  well  deserve  to  be  no  meaner  thing, 
Than  Persian  knight,  whose  horse  made  him  a  Kin{ 


By  that  bedside  where  sits  a  gallant  Dame, 
Who  casteth  off  her  brave  and  rich  attire  ; 
Whose  petticoat  sets  forth  as  fair  a  frame 
As  mortal  men  or  gods  can  well  desire. 
Who  sits  and  sees  her  petticoat  unlaced  : 
I  say  no  more.     The  rest  are  all  disgraced. 


14  William  Byrd's  First  Book 

Onstant  Penelope  sends  to  thee,  careless  Ulysses  ! 

Write  not  again,  but  come,  sweet  Mate !  thyself  to 
revive  me.  [Greece. 

Troy  we  do  much  envy,  we  desolate  lost  ladies  of 
Not  Priamus,  nor  yet  all  Troy,  can  us  recompense  make. 
Oh,  that  he  had,  when  he  first  took  shipping  to  Lacedemon, 
That  adulter  I  mean,  had  been  o'erwhelmed  with  waters  ! 
Then  had  I  not  lien  now  all  alone,  thus  quivering  for  cold ; 
Nor  used  this  complaint,  nor  have  thought  the  day  to  be  solong. 

Arewell,  false  Love  !  the  oracle  of  lies, 

A  mortal  foe,  and  enemy  to  rest  ; 

An  envious  boy,  from  whom  all  cares  arise ; 

A  bastard  vile,  a  beast  with  rage  possest, 
A  way  of  error,  a  temple  full  of  treason : 
In  all  effects,  contrary  unto  reason. 

A  poisoned  serpent  covered  all  with  flowers, 
Mother  of  sighs,  and  murderer  of  repose  ; 
A  sea  of  sorrows  from  whence  are  drawn  such  showers, 
As  moisture  lend,  to  every  grief  that  grows; 
A  school  of  guile,  a  net  of  deep  deceit, 
A  gilded  hook  that  holds  a  poisoned  bait. 

A  fortress  foiled,  which  Reason  did  defend, 
A  Siren  song,  a  fever  of  the  mind, 
A  maze  wherein  affection  finds  no  end, 
A  raging  cloud  that  runs  before  the  wind, 
A  substance  like  the  shadow  of  the  sun, 
A  goal  of  grief  for  which  the  wisest  run. 

A  quenchless  fire,  a  nurse  of  trembling  fear, 
A  path  that  leads  to  peril  and  mishap, 
A  true  retreat  of  sorrow  and  despair, 
An  idle  boy  that  sleeps  in  Pleasure's  lap, 
A  deep  mistrust  of  that  which  certain  seems, 
A  hope  of  that  which  Reason  doubtful  deems. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  15 

He  match  that's  made  for  just  and  true  respects, 
With  evenness,  both  of  years  and  parentage ; 
Of  force  must  bring  forth  many  good  effects. 
Pari  jugo  dulcis  tr actus. 

For  where  chaste  love  and  liking  sets  the  plant, 
And  concord  waters  with  a  firm  goodwill, 
Of  no  good  thing  there  can  be  any  want. 

Pari  jugo  dulcis  tractus. 

Sound  is  the  knot,  that  Chastity  hath  tied, 
Sweet  is  the  music,  Unity  doth  make, 
Sure  is  the  store,  that  Plenty  doth  provide. 

Pari  jugo  dulcis  tractus. 

Where  Chasteness  fails,  there  Concord  will  decay, 
Where  Concord  fleets,  there  Plenty  will  decrease, 
Where  Plenty  wants,  there  Love  will  wear  away. 
Pari  jugo  dulcis  tractus. 

I  Chastity,  restrain  all  strong  desires  ! 
I  Concord,  keep  the  course  of  sound  consent! 
I  Plenty,  spare  and  spend,  as  cause  requires! 
Pari  jugo  dulcis  tractus. 


Make  much  of  us,  all  ye  that  married  be  ! 
Speak  well  of  us,  all  ye  that  mind  to  be  ! 
The  time  may  come,  to  want  and  wish  all  three. 
Pari  jugo  dulcis  tractus. 


i6 


William  Byrd's  First  Book 


SoNQg    OF     S/VDNE££     AND    PlETY. 


Rostrate,  O  LORD  !    I  lie, 
Behold  me,  LORD  !  with  pity. 
Stop  not  Thine  ears  !  against  my  cry, 
My  sad  and  mourning  ditty, 
Breathed  from  an  inward  soul, 
From  heart  heart'ly  contrite  ; 
An  offering  sweet,  a  sacrifice 
In  Thy  heavenly  sight. 


Observe  not  sins,  O  LORD  ! 
For  who  may  then  abide  it ; 
But  let  Thy  mercy  cancel  them, 
Thou  hast  not  man  denied  it. 
Man  melting  with  remorse  and  thoughts 
Thought  past  repenting. 
O  lighten,  LORD  !  O  hear  our  songs  ! 
Our  sins  full  sore  lamenting. 


The  wonders  of  Thy  works, 
Above  all  reason  reacheth  ; 
And  yet  Thy  mercy  above  all 
This,  us  Thy  Spirit  teacheth  ! 
Then  let  no  sinner  fall 
In  depth  of  fou'  despair; 
Since  never  soul  so  foul  there  was, 
But  mercy  made  it  fair. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  17 


Ll  as  a  sea,  the  world  no  other  is, 
Ourselves  are  Ships  still  tossed  to  and  fro. 
And  lo,  each  man,  his  love  to  that  or  this, 
'JIs  like  a  Storm  that  drives  the  ship  to  go  ; 
That  thus  our  life  in  doubt  of  shipwreck  stands : 
Our  wills,  the  Rocks ;  our  want  of  skill,  the  Sands. 

Our  passions  be  the  Pirates  still  that  spoil, 
And  overboard  cast  out  our  reason's  Freight ; 
The  Mariners  that  day  and  night  do  toil, 
Be  our  conceits  that  do  on  pleasure  wait : 
Pleasure,  Master,  doth  tyrannize  the  ship, 
And  giveth  virtue  secretly  the  nip. 

The  Compass  is  a  mind  to  compass  all, 
Both  pleasure,  profit,  place,  and  fame  for  nought : 
The  Winds  that  blow,  men  overweening  call, 
The  Merchandise  is  wit  full  dearly  bought, 
Trial  the  Anchor  cast  upon  experience, 
For  labour,  life,  and  all  ado  the  Recompense. 


Usanna  fair,  sometime  assaulted  was, 
By  two  old  men,  desiring  their  delight; 
Whose  false  intent  they  thought  to  bring  to  pass, 
If  not  by  tender  love,  by  force  and  might. 
To  whom  she  said,  "  If  I  you  suit  deny, 
You  will  me  falsely  accuse,  and  make  me  die. 

And  if  I  grant  to  that  which  you  request, 
My  chastity  shall  then  deflowered  be  : 
Which  is  so  dear  to  me  that  I  detest 
My  life  ;  if  it  berefted  be  from  me. 
And  rather  would  I  die,  of  mine  accord, 
Ten  thousand  times,  than  once  offend  the  LORD  !" 
n  B 


1 3  William  Byrd's  First  Book 

F  that  a  sinner's  sighs  be  angels'  food, 
Or  that  repentant  tears  be  angels'  wine  ; 
Accept,  0  LORD  !  in  this  most  pensive  mood 
These  hearty  sighs  and  tears  of  mine : 

That  went  with  Peter  forth  most  sinfully  ; 

But  not  with  Peter  wept  most  bitterly. 

If  I  had  David's  crown  to  me  betide, 
Or  all  his  purple  robes  that  he  did  wear ; 
I  would  lay  then  such  honour  all  aside, 
And  only  seek  a  sackcloth  weed  to  bear : 
His  palace  would  I  leave,  that  I  might  show 
And  mourn  in  cell  for  such  offence,  my  woe. 

There  should  these  hands  beat  on  my  pensive  breast  ; 
And  sad  to  death,  for  sorrow  rend  my  hair  : 
My  voice  to  call  on  Thee,  should  never  rest ; 
Whose  grace  I  seek,  Whose  judgement  I  do  fear. 
Upon  the  ground,  all  grovelling  on  my  face, 
I  would  beseech  Thy  favour  and  good  grace  ! 

But  since  I  have  not  means  to  make  the  show 
Of  my  repentant  mind,  and  yet  I  see 
My  sin,  to  greater  heap  than  Peter's  grow, 
Whereby  the  danger  more  it  is  to  me : 
I  put  my  trust  in  His  most  precious  blood, 
Whose  life  was  paid  to  purchase  all  our  good. 

Thy  mercy  greater  is  than  any  sin  ! 
Thy  greatness  none  can  ever  comprehend  ! 
Wherefore,  O  LORD  !   let  me  Thy  mercy  win, 
Whose  glorious  name,  no  time  can  ever  end  : 
Wherefore  I  say,  "  All  praise  belongs  to  Thee  !  " 
Whom  I  beseech  be  merciful  to  me. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  19 

Are  for  thy  soul,  as  thing  of  greatest  price  ! 

Made  to  the  end  to  taste  of  power  divine ; 

Devoid  of  guilt,  abhorring  sin  and  vice, 

Apt  by  GOD's  grace  to  virtue  to  incline  : 
Care  for  it  so,  as  by  thy  retchless  train 
It  be  not  brought  to  taste  eternal  pain ! 

Care  for  thy  corps  [body],  but  chiefly  for  soul's  sake  ; 

Cut  off  excess  !  sustaining  food  is  best. 

To  vanquish  pride,  but  comely  clothing  take ; 

Seek  after  skill !  deep  ignorance  detest ! 

Care  so,  I  say,  the  flesh  to  feed  and  clothe, 

That  thou  harm  not  thy  soul  and  body  both. 

Care  for  the  world,  to  do  thy  body  right ; 
Rack  not  thy  wit,  to  win  by  wicked  ways, 
Seek  not  t'oppress  the  weak  by  wrongful  might, 
To  pay  thy  due,  do  banish  all  delays  : 
Care  to  dispend,  according  to  thy  store, 
And  in  like  sort,  be  mindful  of  the  poor. 

Care  for  thy  soul,  as  for  thy  chiefest  stay, 

Care  for  thy  body,  for  the  soul's  avail, 

Care  for  the  world,  for  body's  help  alway  : 

Care  yet  but  so  as  virtue  may  prevail. 

Care  in  such  sort !  that  thou  be  sure  of  this, 

Care  keep  thee  not  from  heaven  and  heavenly  bliss. 


Lulla,  la  lulla,  lull  a  lullaby, 

My  sweet  little  Baby  !  what  meanest  thou  to  cry  ? 


E  still,  my  blessed  Babe!  though  cause  thou  hast  to 

mourn, 
Whose  blood  most  innocent  to  shed,  the  cruel  King 

hath  sworn  ; 


20  William  Byrd's  First  Book 

And  lo,  alas,  behold  what  slaughter  he  doth  make, 
Shedding  the  blood  of  infants  all,  sweet  Saviour !  for  Thy  sake ! 
A  King  is  born,  they  say  ;  which  King,  this  King  would  kill. 
Oh  woe !  and  woeful  heavy  day !  when  wretches  have  their  will. 

Lulla,  la  lull  a,  lull  a  lullaby, 

My  sweet  little  Baby !  what  meanest  thou  to  cry  ? 

Three  Kings,  this  King  of  Kings  to  see,  are  come  from  far ; 
To  each  unknown,  with  offerings  great,  by  guiding  of  a  star: 
And  shepherds  heard  the  Song,  which  angels  bright  did  sing, 
Giving  all  glory  unto  GOD,  for  [the]  coming  of  this  King  : 
Which  must  be  made  away,  King  Herod  would  him  kill. 
Oh  woe!  and  woeful  heavy  day!  when  wretches  have  their  will. 

Lulla,  la  lulla,  lulla  lullaby, 

My  sweet  little  Baby  !  what  meanest  thou  to  cry  ? 

Lo !  lo !  my  little  Babe  !  be  still,  lament  no  more  ! 

From  fury  shalt  thou  step  aside!  Help  have  we  still  in  store. 

We  heavenly  warning  have,  some  other  soil  to  seek. 

From  death,  must  fly  the  Lord  of  Life,  as  lamb  both  mild  and 

meek ; 
Thus  must  my  Babe  obey  the  King,  that  would  him  kill. 
Oh  woe !  and  woeful  heavy  day !  when  wretches  have  their  will. 

Lulla,  la  lulla,  lulla  lullaby, 

My  sweet  little  Baby  !  what  meanest  thou  to  cry  ? 

But  Thou  shalt  live  and  reign  !  as  sybils  have  foresaid, 
As  all  the  prophets  prophesy ;  whose  mother  yet  a  maid 
And  perfect  virgin  pure,  with  her  breasts  shall  upbreed 
Both  GOD  and  man,  that  all  hath  made,  the  Son  of  heavenly 

seed : 
Whom  caitifs  none  can  'tray,  whom  tyrants  none  can  kill. 
Oh  joy !  and  joyful  happy  day!  when  wretches  want  their  will. 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs.  21 

Hy  do  I  use  my  paper,  ink,  and  pen, 

And  call  my  wits  to  counsel  what  to  say  ? 

Such  memories  were  made  for  mortal  men  ; 

I  speak  of  saints,  whose  names  cannot  decay  ! 
An  angel's  trump  were  fitter  for  to  sound 
Their  glorious  death  !   if  such  on  earth  were  found. 

That  store  of  such  were  once  on  earth  pursued, 
The  histories  of  ancient  times  record ; 
Whose  constancy,  great  tyrants'  rage  subdued  ; 
Through  patient  death,  professing  Christ  their  LORD, 
As  his  Apostles  perfect  witness  bear, 
With  many  more,  that  blessed  martyrs  were. 

Whose  patience  rare,  and  most  courageous  mind, 
With  fame  renowned,  perpetual  shall  endure  ; 
By  whose  examples  we  may  rightly  find 
Of  holy  life  and  death,  a  pattern  pure. 
That  we  therefore  their  virtues  may  embrace  ; 
Pray  we  to  Christ,  to  guide  us  with  His  grace ! 


22 


William  Byrd's  First  Book 


The     Funeral     Sonq£    or     that 

honourable     qentleman,     s i  f\ 

Philip     Sidney,     Kjmiqht. 


Ome  to  me  grief,  for  ever ! 
Come  to  me  tears,  day  and  night ! 
Come  to  me  plaint  !     Ah,  helpless  ! 
Just  grief!  heart's  tears  !  plaint  worthy  ! 

,Go  from  dread  to  die  now ! 
Go  from  me  care  to  live  now  ! 
Go  from  me  joys  all  on  earth  ! 
Sidney  !  O  Sidney  is  dead  ! 


He  whom  the  Court  adorned, 
He  whom  the  country  courtes'd, 
He  who  made  happy  his  friends, 
He  that  did  good  to  all  men. 


Sidney,  the  hope  of  land  strange  ! 
Sidney,  the  flower  of  England  ! 
Sidney,  the  sprite  heroic  ! 
Sidney  is  dead  !  O  dead  !  dead  ! 


of  Psalms,  Sonnets,  and  Songs. 


23 


Dead  !  no,  no,  but  renowned  ! 
With  the  anointed  oned  ! 
Honour  on  earth  at  his  feet, 
Bliss  everlasting  his  seat. 

Come  to  me  grief,  for  ever ! 
Come  to  me  tears,  day  and  night  ! 
Come  to  me  plaint  !  Ah,  helpless ! 
Just  grief!  heart's  tears  !  plaint  worthy! 


That  most  rare  breast !  crystalline,  sincere, 
Through   which,  like  gold,  thy  princely  heart  did 

shine. 
O  sprite  heroic  !  O  valiant  worthy  knight ! 

O  Sidney  !   Prince  of  fame  and  men's  good  will ; 

For  thee  !  both  kings  and  princesses  do  mourn. 

Thy  noble  tomb,  three  cities  strange  desired  ! 

Foes  to  the  cause  thy  prowess  did  defend, 

Bewail  the  day  that  crost  thy  famous  race ! 

The  doleful  debt  due  to  thy  hearse  I  pay, 

Tears  from  the  soul,  that  aye  thy  want  shall  moan. 

And  by  my  will,  my  life  itself  would  yield ; 

If  heathen  blame  ne  might  my  faith  distain. 

O  heavy  time  !  that  my  days  draw  behind  thee  ! 
Thou  dead,  dost  live  !  thy  friend  here  living,  dieth ! 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures. 

By  William   Byrd. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  J^{atures, 

some  of  grauitie,  and  others  of  myrth,  fit 

for  all  companies  and  Voyces.      Lately 

made  and  composed  into  Musick  of  3, 

4,  5,  and  6  parts:   and  published  for 

the  delight  of  all  such  as  take 

pleasure  in  the  exercise  of 

that  Art. 


By  William  Byrd,  one  of  the  Gentlemen 

of  the  Queenes  Majesties  honorable 

Chappell. 


Imprinted  at  London  by  Thomas 

Este,  the  assigne  of  William  Byrd,  and 

are  to  bee  sold  at  the  house  of  the  sayd 

T.  Este,  beeing  in  Aldersgate  street, 

at  the  signe  of  the  blaclce  Horse. 

1589. 

Cum pr'iu'ilegio  Regia  Ma'iestatis. 


29 


To  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE  MY  VERY  GOOD  LORD, 

Sir     HENRY     CARYE, 

Baron   of   Hunsdon,    Knight   of    the   most    noble 

order  of  the  garter,  lord  chamberlain  to  the 

Queenes  most  excellent  Majestie,  Lord  Warden  of  the 

East  Marches  towards  Scotland,  governour  of  Barwycke 

and  the  Castle  of  Norham,  Captain  of  the  Gentlemen 

Pensioners,  Justice  in  Oyer,  over  all  her  Majesties 

Forests  and  Chases,  on  this  side  the  River  of 

Trent,  and  one  of  her  Majesties  most 

honorable  privie  Councel. 

William   Byrd 

wisheth  increase  of  honour, 

with  all  true  felicitie. 


Aving  observed  {Right  Honourable)  that 
since  the  publishing  in  print,  of  my  last 
labors  in  Music,  divers  persons  of  great 
honour  and  worship,  have  more  esteemed  and 
delighted  in  the  exercise  of  that  Art,  then 
before.  And  being  persuaded,  that  the  same 
hath  the  rather  encreased,  through  their  good 
acceptation  of  my  former  endeavours :  it  hath  especially  moved 
and  encouraged  mee  to  take  further  pains  to  gratify  their 


^o  Dedication  to  Sir  Henry  Carye. 

courteous  dispositions  thereunto,  knowing  that  the  varietie  and 
choise  of  songs,  is  both  a  praise  of  the  Art,  and  a  pleasure  to 
the  delighted  therein.  And  finding  no  person  to  whom  the 
dedication  thereof  so  fitly  and  pi'operly  belonged,  as  unto  your 
Lordship,  by  whom  {through  the  honorable  office  which  you 
exercise  about  her  Majesties  person)  both  my  self  {for  my 
place  of  service,)  and  all  other  her  highnesse  Musicians  are  to 
be  commanded,  and  under  your  high  authority  to  be  protected. 
And  for  many  favours  to  me  shelved,  being  most  deeply  bound 
unto  your  Honor,  having  not  in  me  any  other  power  of 
serviceable  thankfulness  then  in  notes  and  tunes  of  music.  I 
most  humbly  beseech  your  Lordship  to  take  into  your  honorable 
protection,  these  my  poor  travells  in  that  Art,  accepting  them 
as  Servants  ready  to  give  your  L.  delight,  after  you  have 
been  forewearied  in  affairs  of  great  importance.  Beseeching 
Almighty  God  to  give  you  a  long,  healthy,  and  happy  life,  with 
a  blessed  end. 

I  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Your  Lordships  most  bounden, 

WILLIAM  BYRD 


3i 


To  the   Courteous   Reader. 


Inding  that  my  last  Impression  of  Music  (most 
gentle  Reader)  through  thy  courtesy  and  favour, 
hath  had  good  passage  and  utterance :  and  that 
since  the  publishing  thereof,  the  exercise  and 
love  of  that  Art  to  have  exceedingly  increased.  I  have 
been  encouraged  thereby,  to  take  further  pains  therein,  and 
to  make  thee  partaker  thereof,  because  I  would  shew  my 
self  grateful  to  thee  for  thy  love,  and  desirous  to  delight 
thee  with  variety,  whereof  (in  my  opinion)  no  Science  is 
more  plentifully  adorned  then  Music.  For  which  purpose 
I  do  now  publish  for  thee,  songs  of  3,  4,  5  and  6  parts,  to 
serve  for  all  companies  and  voices  :  whereof  some  are  easy 
and  plain  to  sing,  other  more  hard  and  difficult,  but  all,  such 
as  any  young  practicioner  in  singing,  with  a  little  foresight, 
may  easily  perform.  If  I  find  thy  courtesy  to  extend  as 
well  to  these  my  present  travells,  as  it  hath  done  to  my 
former  endeavours,  I  will  make  my  self  endebted  to  thee 
during  my  life,  of  whatsoever  is  in  me,  to  yield  thy  delight 
in  Music,  any  satisfaction. 

The  most  affectionate  friend  to  all  that  love  or 
learn  music 

WILLIAM  BYRD. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  33 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures. 

The  nightingale  so  pleasant  and  so  gay 
In  greenwood  groves  delights  to  make  his  dwellingj 

In  fields  to  fly,  chanting  his  roundelay 
At  liberty,  against  the  cage  rebelling. 

But  my  poor  heart,  with  sorrows  over  swelling, 
Through  bondage  vile  binding  my  freedom  short, 

No  pleasure  takes  in  these  his  sports  excelling, 
Nor  in  his  song  receiveth  no  comfort. 

The  First  Part. 

WHEN  younglings  first  on  Cupid  fix  their  sight 

And  see  him  naked,  blindfold,  and  a  boy, 
Though  bow  and  shafts  and  fire-brand  be  his  might, 

Yet  ween  they  he  can  work  them  none  annoy. 
And  therefore  with  his  purple  wings  they  play, 

For  glorious  seemeth  Love,  though  light  as  feather, 
And  when  they  have  done,  they  ween  to  'scape  away, 

For  blind  men,  say  they,  shoot  they  know  not  whither 

The  Second  Part. 

BUT  when  by  proof  they  find  that  he  did  see, 
And  that  his  wound  did  rather  dim  their  sight, 

They  wonder  more  how  such  a  lad  as  he 

Should  be  of  such  surpassing  power  and  might. 

But  ants  have  galls,  so  hath  the  bee  his  sting : 

Then  shield  me,  heav'ns,  from  such  a  subtle  thing. 

II  c 


34 


William  Byrd's 


The  First  Part. 

UPON  a  summer's  day  Love  went  to  swim, 

And  cast  himself  into  a  sea  of  tears. 
The  clouds  call'd  in  their  light,  and  heav'n  wax'd  dim, 

And  sighs  did  raise  a  tempest,  causing  fears. 

The  naked  boy  could  not  so  wield  his  arms 
But  that  the  waves  were  masters  of  his  might, 

And  threat'ned  him  to  work  far  greater  harms 
If  he  devised  not  to  'scape  by  flight. 

The  Second  Part. 

Then  for  a  boat  his  quiver  stood  in  stead 
His  bow  unbent  did  serve  him  for  a  mast, 

Whereby  to  sail,  his  cloth  of  vail  he  spread, 
His  shafts  for  oars  on  either  board  he  cast. 

From  shipwreck  safe  this  wag  got  thus  to  shore 

And  sware  to  bathe  in  lovers'  tears  no  more. 


^^^ 


The  greedy  hawk,  with  sudden  sight  of  lure, 
Doth  stoop  in  hope  to  have  her  wished  prey: 

So  many  men  do  stoop  to  sights  unsure 

And  courteous  speech  doth  keep  them  at  the  bay. 

Let  them  beware,  lest  friendly  looks  be  like 

The  lure,  whereat  the  soaring  hawk  did  strike. 


¥¥¥ 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  35 

The  First  Part. 

Is  Love  a  boy?  what  means  he  then  to  strike? 
Or  is  he  blind  ?  why  will  he  be  a  guide  ? 

Is  he  a  man  ?  why  doth  he  hurt  his  like? 
Is  he  a  god?  why  doth  he  men  deride? 

No  one  of  these,  but  one  compact  of  all : 
A  wilful  boy,  a  man  still  dealing  blows, 

Of  purpose  blind,  to  lead  men  to  their  thrall, 
A  god  that  rules,  unruly  God  He  knows. 


The  Second  Part. 

BOY,  pity  me  that  am  a  child  again  ; 

Blind,  be  no  more  my  guide  to  make  me  stray ; 
Man,  use  thy  might  to  force  away  my  pain  ; 

God,  do  me  good  and  lead  me  to  my  way. 
And  if  thou  be'st  a  pow'r  to  me  unknown 
Pow'r  of  my  life,  let  here  thy  grace  be  shown. 


*  V  * 


The  First  Part. 

WOUNDED  I  am  and  dare  not  seek  relief 
For  this  new  stroke  unseen  but  not  unfelt ; 

No  blood  nor  bruise  is  witness  of  my  grief, 

But  sighs  and  tears  wherewith  I  mourn  and  melt. 

If  I  complain,  my  witness  is  suspect, 
If  I  contain,  with  cares  I  am  undone: 

Sit  still  and  die,  tell  truth  and  be  reject  ; 
O  hateful  choice,  that  sorrow  cannot  shun. 


36  William  Byrd's 


The  Second  Part. 

Yet  of  us  twain  whose  loss  shall  be  the  less, 
Mine  of  my  life,  or  you  of  your  good  name  ? 

Light  is  my  death  regarding  my  distress 
But  your  offence  cries  out  to  your  defame, 

"  A  virgin  fair  hath  slain  for  lack  of  grace 

The  man  that  made  an  idol  of  her  face." 


*** 


The  First  Part. 

FROM  Citheron  the  warlike  boy  is  fled, 
And  smiling  sits  upon  a  Virgin's  lap, 
Thereby  to  train  poor  misers  to  the  trap 
Whom  beauty  draws  with  fancy  to  be  fed ; 
And  when  desire  with  eager  looks  is  led, 
Then  from  her  eyes 
The  arrow  flies, 
Feather'd  with  flame,  arm'd  with  a  golden-head. 


The  Second  Part. 

There  careless  thoughts  are  freed  of  that  flame, 
Wherewith  her  thralls  are  scorched  to  the  heart  ; 
If  Love  would  so,  would  God  th'  enchanting  dart 
Might  once  return  and  burn  from  whence  it  came ! 
Not  to  deface  of  beauty's  work  the  frame, 
But  by  rebound 
It  might  be  found 
What  secret  smart  I  suffer  by  the  same. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  $7 


The  Third  Part. 

If  Love  be  just,  then  just  is  my  desire, 
And  if  unjust,  why  is  he  call'd  a  god  ? 
O  god,  O  good,  O  just,  reserve  thy  rod 
To  chasten  those  that  from  thy  laws  retire. 
But  choose  aright,  good  Love,  I  thee  require, 
The  golden  head 
Not  that  of  lead  ; 
Her  heart  is  frost  and  must  dissolve  by  fire. 


¥?¥ 


O  LORD,  my  God,  let  flesh  and  blood 

Thy  servant  not  subdue, 
Nor  let  the  world  deceive  me  with 

His  glory  most  untrue. 


Let  not,  O  Lord,  O  mighty  God, 
Let  not  Thy  mortal  foe, 

Let  not  the  fiend  with  all  his  craft 
Thy  servant  overthrow. 


But  to  resist  give  fortitude, 
Give  patience  to  endure, 

Give  constancy  that  always  Thine 
I  may  persever  sure. 


38  William  Byrd's 


While  that  the  sun  with  his  beams  hot 

Scorched  the  fruits  in  vale  and  mountain, 
Philon  the  shepherd  late  forgot 
Sitting  beside  a  crystal  fountain 

In  shadow  of  a  green  oak  tree, 
Upon  his  pipe  this  song  play'd  he: 
Adieu  love,  adieu  love,  untrue  love! 
Untrue  love,  untrue  love,  adieu  love! 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 


So  long  as  I  was  in  your  sight 

I  was  your  heart,  your  soul,  your  treasure  ; 
And  evermore  you  sobb'd  and  sigh'd, 
Burning  in  flames  beyond  all  measure. 

Three  days  endur'd  your  love  to  me 
And  it  was  lost  in  other  three. 
Adieu  love,  adieu  love,  untrue  love ! 
Untrue  love,  untrue  love,  adieu  love ! 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 


Another  shepherd  you  did  see 

To  whom  your  heart  was  soon  enchained ; 
Full  soon  your  love  was  leapt  from  me, 
Full  soon  my  place  he  had  obtained. 

Soon  came  a  third  your  love  to  win, 
And  we  were  out,  and  he  was  in. 
Adieu  love,  adieu  love,  untrue  love! 
Untrue  love,  untrue  love,  adieu  love ! 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  39 

Sure  you  have  made  me  passing  glad 

That  you  your  mind  so  soon  removed, 
Before  that  I  the  leisure  had 

To  choose  you  for  my  best  beloved. 

For  all  my  love  was  past  and  done 
Two  days  before  it  was  begun 
Adieu  love,  adieu  love,  untrue  love! 
Untrue  love,  untrue  love,  adieu  love  ! 
Your  mind  is  light,  soon  lost  for  new  love. 


#^^ 


WEEPING  full  sore,  with  face  as  fair  as  silver, 
Not  wanting  rose  nor  lily  white  to  paint  it, 
I  saw  a  lady  walk  fast  by  a  river 
Upon  whose  banks  Diana's  nymphs  all  danced. 

Her  beauty  great  had  divers  gods  enchanted 
Among  the  which  Love  was  the  first  transformed, 
Who  unto  her  his  bow  and  shafts  had  granted, 
And  by  her  sight  to  adamant  was  turned. 

Alas,  quoth  I,  what  meaneth  this  demeanour? 

So  fair  a  dame  to  be  so  full  of  sorrow. 

No  wonder,  quoth  a  nymph,  she  wanteth  pleasure, 

Her  tears  and  sighs  ne  cease  from  eve  to  morrow. 

This  Lady  Rich  is  of  the  gifts  of  beauty, 

But  unto  her  are  gifts  of  fortune  dainty. 


*^^ 


4<d  William  Byrd's 


Penelope  that  longed  for  the  sight 

Of  her  Ulysses,  wandering  all  too  long, 
Felt  never  joy  wherein  she  took  delight 

Although  she  lived  in  greatest  joys  among. 
So  I,  poor  wretch,  possessing  that  I  crave, 
Both  live  and  lack  by  wrong  of  that  I  have. 
Then  blame  me  not,  although  to  heaven  I  cry 
And  pray  the  gods  that  shortly  I  might  die. 


?¥¥ 


COMPEL  the  hawk  to  sit  that  is  unmann'd, 

Or  make  the  hound  untaught  to  draw  the  deer, 

Or  bring  the  free  against  his  will  in  hand, 
Or  move  the  sad  a  pleasant  tale  to  hear — 
Your  time  is  lost,  and  you  are  ne'er  the  near. 

So  love  ne  learns  by  force  the  knot  to  knit  ; 

He  serves  but  those  that  feel  sweet  fancy's  fit. 


?■$¥ 


The  First  Part. 

See  those  sweet  eyes,  those  more  man  sweetest  eyes 
Eyes  whom  the  stars  exceed  not  in  their  grace ; 

See  Love  at  gaze,  Love,  that  would  fain  devise 
But  cannot  speak  to  plead  his  wondrous  case. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  41 


The  Second  Part. 

LOVE  would  discharge  the  duty  of  his  heart 
In  beauty's  praise,  whose  greatness  doth  deny 

Words  to  his  thoughts,  and  thoughts  to  her  desert 
Which  high  conceits  since  nothing  can  supply, 

Love  here  constrain'd  through  conquest  to  confess 

Bids  silence  sigh  that  tongue  cannot  express. 


[The  two  parts  of  this  song  have  been  placed  together,  although  in 
the  original  edition  they  were  separated.] 


#  ^^ 


When  I  was  otherwise  than  now  I  am, 
I  loved  more,  but  skilled  not  so  much. 

Fair  words  and  smiles  could  have  contented  then, 
My  simple  age  and  ignorance  was  such. 

But  at  the  length  experience  made  me  wonder 

That  hearts  and  tongues  did  lodge  so  far  asunder. 

As  watermen  which  on  the  Thames  do  row 
Look  to  the  east,  but  west  keeps  on  the  way, 

My  sovereign  sweet  her  countenance  settled  so 
To  feed  my  hope,  while  she  her  snares  might  lay5 

And  when  she  saw  that  I  was  in  her  danger, 

Good  God,  how  soon  she  proved  then  a  ranger. 


42  William  Byrd's 

I  could  not  choose  but  laugh,  although  too  late, 
To  see  great  craft  decipher'd  in  a  toy : 

I  love  her  still,  but  such  conditions  hate, 
Which  so  profanes  my  Paradise  of  joy. 

Love  whets  the  wits,  whose  pain  is  but  a  pleasure, 

A  toy  by  fits  to  play  withal  at  leisure. 


^^^ 


When  first  by  force  of  fatal  destiny 

From  Carthage  town  the  Trojan  knight  did  sail, 
Queen  Dido  fair  with  woeful  weeping  eye 

His  strange  depart  did  grievously  bewail. 
And  when  no  sighs  nor  tears  could  ease  her  smart, 
With  sword  full  sharp  she  pierc'd  her  tender  heart. 


^^^ 


I  THOUGHT  that  Love  had  been  a  boy 

With  blinded  eyes, 
Or  else  some  other  wanton  toy 

That  men  devise, 
Like  tales  of  fairies  often  told 
By  doting  age  that  dies  for  cold. 


^^^ 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  43 


O  DEAR  life,  when  may  it  be 

That  mine  eyes  thine  eyes  may  see, 

And  in  them  my  mind  discover 
Whether  absence  hath  had  force 
Thy  remembrance  to  divorce 

From  the  image  of  thy  lover? 

Oh,  if  I  myself  find  not 

Through  my  parting  ought  forgot 
Nor  debarr'd  from  beauty's  treasure, 

Let  no  tongue  aspire  to  tell 

In  what  high  joys  I  shall  dwell  : 
Only  thought  aims  at  the  pleasure. 

Thought  therefore  I  will  send  thee 
To  take  up  the  place  for  me ; 

Long  I  will  not  after  tarry. 

There  unseen  thou  mayst  be  bold 
These  fair  wonders  to  behold 

Which  in  them  my  hopes  do  carry. 


¥?¥ 


A  Carol  for  Christmas  Day. 

From  Virgin's  womb  this  day,  this  day  did  spring 
The  precious  Seed  that  only  saved  man  : 

This  day  let  man  rejoice  and  sweetly  sing, 
Since  on  this  day  our  Saviour  first  began : 


44  William  Byrd's 

This  day  did  Christ  man's  soul  from  death  remove 
With  glorious  saints  to  dwell  in  Heaven  above. 
Rejoice,  rejoice,  with  heart  and  voice, 
In  Christ  His  birth  this  day  rejoice. 


This  day  to  man  came  pledge  of  perfect  peace, 

This  day  to  man  came  love  and  unity. 
This  day  man's  grief  began  for  to  surcease, 

This  day  did  man  receive  a  remedy 
For  each  offence  and  every  deadly  sin 
With  guilty  heart  that  erst  he  wandered  in. 
Rejoice,  rejoice,  with  heart  and  voice, 
In  Christ  His  birth  this  day  rejoice. 


In  Christ  His  flock  let  love  be  surely  plac'd, 

From  Christ  His  flock  let  concord  hate  expel, 
Of  Christ  His  flock  let  love  be  so  embrac'd 

As  we  in  Christ  and  Christ  in  us  may  dwell. 
Christ  is  the  author  of  sweet  unity 
From  whence  proceedeth  all  felicity. 

Rejoice,  rejoice,  with  heart  and  voice, 
In  Christ  His  birth  this  day  rejoice. 


O  sing  unto  this  glittering,  glorious  King, 

O  praise  His  name  let  every  living  thing; 
Let  heart  and  voice  like  bells  of  silver  ring 

The  comfort  that  this  day  to  man  doth  bring: 
Let  lute,  let  shawm,  with  sound  of  sweet  delight 
These  joys  of  Christ  His  birth  this  day  recite. 
Rejoice,  rejoice,  with  heart  and  voice. 
In  Christ  His  birth  this  day  rejoice. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  45 


The  First  Part. 

Of  gold  all  burnish'd  and  brighter  than  sun-beams 
Were  those  curled  locks  upon  her  noble  head, 
From  whose  deep  conceits  my  true  deservings  fled, 

Wherefore  these  mine  eyes  such  store  of  tears  outstreams. 

Her  eyes  are  fair  stars,  her  red  like  damask  rose, 
Her  white,  silver  shine  of  moon  on  crystal  stream, 
Her  beauty  perfect,  whereon  my  fancies  dream, 

Her  lips  are  rubies,  her  teeth  of  pearl  two  rows. 


The  Second  Part. 

Her  breath  is  more  sweet  than  perfect  amber  is, 
Her  years  are  in  prime,  and  nothing  doth  she  want 

That  might  draw  angels  from  heaven  to  further  bliss ; 
Of  all  things  perfect,  this  do  I  most  complain  ; 
Her  heart  is  a  rock,  made  all  of  adamant, 
Which  gifts  all  delight,  this  last  doth  only  pain. 


^^^ 


The  First  Part. 

Behold,  how  good  a  thing  it  is 

For  brethren  to  agree, 
When  men  amongst  them  do  no  strife 

But  peace  and  concord  see. 


46  William  Byrd's 

Full  like  unto  the  precious  balm 
From  Aaron's  head  that  fell, 

And  did  descend  upon  his  beard, 
His  garment  skirts  until. 


The  Second  Part. 

And  as  the  pleasant  morning  dew 
The  mountain  doth  relieve, 

So  God  will  bless  where  concord  is 
And  life  eternal  give. 


*** 


A  Carol  for  Christmas  Day. 

An  earthly  tree  a  heav'nly  fruit  it  bare, 

A  case  of  clay  contain'd  a  crown  immortal, 
A  crown  of  crowns,  a  King  whose  cost  and  care 

Redeem'd  poor  man,  whose  race  before  was  thrall 
To  death,  to  doom,  to  pains  of  everlasting, 
By  His  sweet  death,  scorns,  stripes,  and  often  fasting. 
Cast  off  all  doubtful  care, 
Exile  and  banish  tears, 
To  joyful  news  divine 

Lend  us  your  list'ning  ears. 

A  star  above  the  stars,  a  sun  of  light 

Whose  blessed  beams  this  wretched  earth  bespread 
With  hope  of  Heaven  and  of  God's  Son  the  sight 

Which  in  our  flesh  and  sinful  soul  lay  dead. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  47 

O  faith,  O  hope,  O  joys  renown'd  for  ever, 
O  lively  life,  that  deathless  shall  persever. 
Cast  off  all  doubtful  care, 
Exile  and  banish  tears, 
To  joyful  news  divine 

Lend  us  your  list'ning  ears. 


Then  let  us  sing  the  lullabies  of  sleep 

To  this  sweet  Babe,  born  to  awake  us  all 
From  drowsy  sin  that  made  old  Adam  weep, 

And  by  his  fault  gave  to  mankind  a  fall. 
For  lo  !  this  day,  the  birth-day,  day  of  days, 
Summons  our  songs,  to  give  Him  laud  and  praise. 
Cast  off  all  doubtful  care, 
Exile  and  banish  tears, 
To  joyful  news  divine 

Lend  us  your  list'ning  ears. 


^^^ 


A  Dialogue  between  two  Shepherds. 

1.  WHO  made  thee,  Hob,  forsake  the  plough 

And  fall  in  love  ? 

2.  Sweet  Beauty,  which  hath  pow'r  to  bow 

The  gods  above. 

1.  What,  dost  thou  serve  a  shepherdess? 

2.  Ay,  such  as  hath  no  peer  I  guess. 


48  William  Byrd's 

1.  What  is  her  name,  who  bears  thy  heart 

Within  thy  breast? 

2.  Silvana  fair,  of  high  desert, 

Whom  I  love  best. 

1.  O  Hob,  I  fear  she  looks  too  high, 

2.  Yet  love  I  must  or  else  I  die. 


??? 


The  First  Part. 

AND,  think  ye,  nymphs,  to  scorn  at  Love, 
As  if  his  fire  were  but  of  straws? 

He  made  the  mighty  gods  above 
To  stoop  and  bow  unto  his  laws. 

And  with  his  shafts  of  beauty  bright 

He  slays  the  hearts  that  scorn  his  might. 


The  Second  Part. 

Love  is  a  fit  of  pleasure 

Bred  out  of  idle  brains; 
His  fancies  have  no  measure 

No  more  than  have  his  pains. 
His  vain  affections  like  the  weather 
Precise  or  fond  we  wot  not  whether. 


Songs  of  Sundrie  Natures.  49 

If  in  thine  heart  thou  nourish  will 

And  give  all  to  thy  lust, 
Then  sorrows  sharp  and  griefs  at  length 

Endure  of  force  thou  must. 


But  if  that  reason  rule  thy  will 
And  govern  all  thy  mind, 

A  blessed  life  then  shalt  thou  lead 
And  fewest  dangers  find. 


11 


The  Second  "Book  of  Songs  and 
Sonnets. 

By   William   Byrd. 
161 1. 


52  William  Byrd's  Second  Book 

TO    THE     RIGHT     HONORABLE 

Francis,    Earl    of  Cumberland, 

Baron  Clifford,  Lord  Broomstreet, 

Atton,  Vipont,  and  Lord  of 

Westmoreland. 

May  it  please  your  Lordship, 

He  Natural  inclination  and  love  to  the  Art  of 
Music,  wherein  I  have  spent  the  better  part  of 
mine  age,  have  been  so  powerful  in  me,  that  even 
in   my  old  years  which  are  desirous  of  rest,   I 


cannot  contain  my  self  from  taking  some  pains  therein  : 
especially  when  I  cast  mine  eyes  upon  such  worthy  lovers 
and  Patrons  of  that  faculty,  as  your  Lordship  hath  always 
been,  and  is.  And  yet  to  invite  me  thereunto,  neither  your 
Lordship's  patronage  in  general,  nor  your  many  Honour- 
able favours  to  me  in  particular,  have  been  so  potent 
inducers  as  the  desire  I  had  to  present  your  Lordship  with 
a  fit  Emblem  to  your  mind,  Music.  Perhaps  these  my  poor 
labours  will  not  give  it  answerable  to  your  Honourable 
mind,  which  is  a  Harmony  of  many  excellent  Virtues,  yet 
therein  they  will  give  you  occasion  to  add  one  Virtue  to  the 
rest,  when  you  shall  be  pleased  to  accept  favourably  of 
them,  for  doing  their  endeavour.  These  are  like  to  be  my 
last  Travails  in  this  kind,  and  your  Lordship  my  last 
Patron  :  who  in  that  respect 

vt  esse  Phocbi  dulcius  lumen  so  let 

iam  iam  cadentis  : 

must  esteem  the  more  of  them,  and  of  their  Author,  who 
will  always  remain, 

Your  Lords/iip's  in  all  true 
affection  at  command, 

William  Byrd. 


of  Songs  and  Sonnets.  53 

To  all  true  lovers  of  Music,  W.   Byrd 

wisheth   all   true   happiness   both 

Temporal  and   Eternal. 


Eing  excited  by  your  kind  acceptance  of  my  former 
travails  in  Music,  I  am  thereby  much  encouraged 
to  commend  to  you  these  my  last  labours  for  mine 
vltimum  vale.  Wherein  I  hope  you  shall  find 
Music  to  content  every  humour :  either  melancholy,  merry  or 
mixed  of  both. 

Only  this  I  desire,  that  you  will  be  but  as  careful  to  hear 
them  well  expressed,  as  I  have  been  both  in  composing  and 
correcting  of  them.  Otherwise  the  best  Song  that  ever  was 
made  will  seem  harsh  and  unpleasant,  for  that  the  well  express- 
ing °f  them,  either  by  Voices,  or  Instruments,  is  the  life  of 
our  labours,  which  is  seldom  or  never  well  performed  at  the 
first  singing  or  playing.  Besides  a  Song  that  is  well  and 
artificially  made  cannot  be  well  perceived  nor  understood  at 
the  first  hearing,  but  the  oftner  you  shall  hear  it,  the  better 
cause  of  liking  you  will  discover :  and  commonly  that  Song  is 
best  esteemed  with  which  our  Ears  are  most  acquainted.  As 
I  have  done  my  best  endeavour  to  give  you  content,  so  I  beseech 
you  satisfy  my  desire  in  hearing  them  well  expressed:  and 
then  I  doubt  not,  for  Art  and  Air  both  of  skilful  and  ignorant 
they  well  deserve  liking.    Vale. 

Thine,  W.  BYRD. 

[161 1]. 


54 


William  Byrd's  Second  Boor 


He  eagle's  force  Subdues  each  Bird  that  flies : 

What  metal  may  resist  the  flaming  fire? 

Doth  not  the  Sun  dazzle  the  clearest  eyes? 

And   melt  the  ice,  and   make  the  frost 

retire  ? 
Who  can    withstand   a  puissant  King's 
desire? 

The  stiffest  stones  are  pierced  through  with  tools : 
The  wisest  are  with  Princes  made  but  fools. 


Of  flattering  speech  with  sugared  words  beware : 

Suspect  the  heart  whose  face  doth  fawn  and  smile, 
With  trusting  these  the  world  is  clogged  with  care 
And  few  there  be  can  'scape  these  Vipers  Vile, 
With  pleasing  speech  they  promise  and  protest 
When  hateful  hearts  lie  hid  within  their  breast. 

*  *  V 


In  Winter  cold  when  tree  and  bush  was  bare, 

And  frost  had  nipped  the  roots  of  tender  grass, 
The  Ants  with  joy  did  feed  upon  their  fare, 

Which  they  had  stored  while  Summer  season  was, 
To  whom  for  food  a  Grasshopper  did  cry, 
And  said  she  starved  if  they  did  help  deny. 


of  Songs  and  Sonnets.  55 

Whereat  an  Ant  with  long  experience  wise, 

And  frost  and  snow  had  many  Winters  seen, 
Inquired  what  in  Summer  was  her  guise, 

Quoth  she,  I  sing  and  hop  in  meadows  green. 

Then  quoth  the  Ant,  content  thee  with  thy  chance, 
For  to  thy  song,  now  art  thou  like  to  dance. 

Who  looks  may  leap  and  save  his  shins  from  knocks, 

Who  tries  may  trust,  else  flattering  friends  shall  find ; 
He  saves  the  Steed,  that  keeps  him  under  locks, 
Who  speaks  with  heed,  may  boldly  speak  his  mind, 
But  he  whose  tongue  before  his  wit  doth  run, 
Oft  speaks  too  soon,  and  grieves  when  he  hath  done. 

In  Crystal  Towers,  and  turrets  richly  set, 

With  glittering  gems,  that  shine  against  the  Sun, 
In  regal  rooms  of  Jasper  and  of  Jet. 

Content  of  mind,  not  always  likes  to  won, 
But  often  times  it  pleaseth  her  to  stay 
In  simple  cots,  enclosed  in  walls  of  clay. 

#  #  ^ 

THIS  sweet  and  merry  month  of  May, 
While  nature  wantons  in  her  Prime, 
And  birds  do  sing,  and  beasts  do  play, 
For  pleasure  of  the  joyful  time  : 
I  choose  the  first  for  holiday 
And  greet  Eliza  with  a  smile, 
O  beauteous  queen  of  second  Troy 
Take  well  in  worth  a  simple  toy. 


56  William  Byrd's  Second  Book 

Let  not  the  sluggish  sleep,  close  up  thy  waking  eye, 

Until  with  judgement  deep  thy  daily  deeds  thou  try, 
He  that  one  sin  in  conscience  keeps 
When  he  to  quiet  goes 

More  ventrous  is  then  he  who  sleeps 
With  twenty  mortal  foes. 


Fained  friend  by  proof  I  find  to  be  a  greater  foe, 

Then    he   that   with   a   spiteful    mind,  doth  seek  my 
overthrow, 
For  of  the  one  I  can  beware, 
With  craft  the  other  breeds  my  care. 

Such  men  are  like  the  hidden  Rocks, 

Which  in  the  Seas  do  lie  : 
Against  the  which  each  Ship  that  knocks, 
Is  drowned  suddenly, 

No  greater  fraud,  nor  more  unjust 
Then  false  deceit  hid  under  trust. 


*** 


Awake  mine  eyes,  see  Phcebus  bright  arising 

And  lesser  Lights  to  shades  obscure  descending 
Glad  Philomela  sits  tunes  of  joy  devising  ;  Sing  : 

Whilst  in  sweet  notes,  from  warbling  throats, 

The  Silvan  Quire,  with  like  desire, 

To  her  are  Echos  sending. 


of  Songs  and  Sonnets.  57 

COME  jolly  Swains,  come  let  us  sit  around, 

And  with  blith  Carols,  sullen  cares  confound. 
The  Shepherds  life  is  void  of  strife  : 

No  worldly  treasures,  distastes  our  pleasures 
With  free  consenting,  our  minds  contenting, 
We  smiling  laugh,  while  others  sigh  repenting. 

WHAT  is  life  or  worldly  pleasure? 

What  is  wealth  or  golden  treasure? 
What  is  grace  or  Princes  smiling? 

What  are  all  in  one  combined,  which  divided  so  dis- 
please ? 
Apish  toys,  and  vain  delights, 
Mind's  unrest,  and  Soul's  disease. 

RETIRE  my  soul,  consider  thine  estate, 

And  justly  sum  :  thy  lavish  sin's  account, 
Time's  dear  expence,  and  costly  pleasure's  rate. 
How  follies  grow,  how  vanities  amount. 

Write  all    these   down    in    pale    Death's   reckoning 

tables, 
Thy  days  will  seem  but  dreams,  thy  hopes  but  fables. 

Come  woeful  OrpJiens  with  thy  charming  Lyre, 

And  tune  my  voice  unto  thy  skilful  wire. 
Some  strange  Cromatique  Notes  do  you  devise, 
That  best  with  mournful  accents  do  sympathise. 
Of  sourest  Sharps  and  uncouth  Flats,  make  choice, 
And  I  '11  thereto  compassionate  my  voice. 


58     Byrd's  Second  Book  of  Songs  and  Sonnets. 

Crowned  with  flowers,  I  saw  fair  Ainarillis, 
By  Thirsts  sit,  hard  by  a  fount  of  Crystal, 
And  with  her  hand  more  white  than  Snow  or  Lillies 
On  sand  she  wrote,  "my  faith  shall  be  immortal," 
And  suddenly  a  storm  of  wind  and  weather, 
Blew  all  her  faith  and  sand  away  together. 

#** 

Wedded  to  will  is  witless,  and  seldom  he  is  skilful 

That  bears  the  name  of  wise,  and  yet  is  wilful. 
To  govern  he  is  fitless,  that  deals  not  by  Election, 
But  by  his  fond  affection. 
O  that  it  might  be  treason, 
For  men  to  rule  by  will,  and  not  by  reason. 

*  *  * 

How  vain  the  toils  that  mortal  men  do  take 

To  hoard  up  gold  that  time  doth  turn  to  dross, 
Forgetting  Him  who  only  for  their  sake 

His  precious  blood  did  shed  upon  the  Cross, 

And  taught  us  all  in  heaven  to  hoard  our  treasure, 
Where  true  encrease  doth  grow  above  all  measure. 


JHusica  Transalpina. 

Edited  by   Nicholas    Yonge, 


6o 


Musica   Transalpina. 

Madrigals  translated  of  foure,  five  and  sixe  parts 
chosen  out  of  divers  excellent  Authors 
Published  by  N.  Yonge,  in  favour  of  such  as 
take  pleasure  in  Musick  of  voices. 

i588. 
*£ 

To  the  Righi  Honourable 
GILBERT,     Lord     TALBOT, 

Son  and  Heir  to  the  right  noble  and  puissant  George, 
Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  Washford  and  Waterford  ;  Earl 

Marshal   of    England,    Lord    Talbot,     FuRA'IfAL,     VERDUNE, 

LoVETOFT  and  SiRANGE  of  Blackmere ;    One  of   Her  Majesty's 

most  honourable  Privy  Council;  Justice  of  the  Forests  and 

Chases  by  north  [of]  the  river  of  Trent;  and  Knight 

of  the  most  honourable  Order  of  the  Garter  : 

N/CHOLAS    YONGE   ivisheth   increase    of  honour,    with    all    happiness. 

Right    Honourable, 

Ince  I  first  began  to  keep  house  in  this  city,  it  hath  been 
no  small  comfort  unto  me,  that  a  great  number  of  Gentle- 
men and  merchants  of  good  account,  as  well  of  this 
realm  as  of  foreign  nations,  have  taken  in  good  part  such 
entertainment  of  pleasure,  as  my  poor  ability  was  able  to  afford 
them:  both  by  the  exercise  of  music  daily  used  in  my  house  ;  and  by 


Musica  Transalpina.  6 1 

furnishing  them  with  books  of  that  kind  yearly  sent  me  out  of  Italy 
and  other  places.  Which,  being- for  the  most  part  Italian  songs, 
are  for  sweetness  of  air  very  well  liked  of  all:  but  most  in  account 
with  them  that  understand  that  language ;  as  for  the  rest,  they  do 
either  not  sing  them  at  all,  or  at  the  least  tvith  little  delight. 

A  nd  albeit  there  be  some  English  Songs  lately  set  forth  by  a 
great  master  of  music  [W.  BYRD,see  pp.  1-23],  which  for  skill and 
sweetness  may  content  the  most  curious  ;  yet  because  they  are  not 
many  in  number,  men  {delighted  with  variety)  have  wished  for  more 
of  the  same  sort.  For  whose  cause  [sake]  chiefly,  I  endeavoured  to 
get  into  my  hands  all  such  English  Songs  as  were  praiseworthy :  and 
amongst  others,  I  had  the  hap  to  find  in  the  hands  of  some  of  my  good 
friends,  certain  Italian  Madrigals,  translated,  most  of  them  five 
years  ago[i.e.,  in  1583],  by  a  Gentleman  for  his  private  delight  (as 
not  long  before,  certain  Neapolitans  had  been  Englished  by  a  very 
honourable  personage,  and  now  a  Councillor  of  Estate  ;  whereof  I 
have  seen  some,  but  never  possessed  any).  Finding  the  same  to  be 
singularly  well  liked,  not  only  of  those  for  whose  cause  I  gathered 
them  ;  but  of  many  skilful  Gentlemen  and  other  great  musicians, 
who  affirmed  the  accent  of  the  words  to  be  well  maintained,  the 
descant  not  hindered  though  in  some  few  notes  altered,  and  in  every 
place  the  due  decorum  kept :  I  was  so  bold  {being  well  acquainted 
with  the  Gentleman)  as  to  intreat  for  the  rest ;  who  willingly  gave 
me  such  as  he  had  (for  of  some,  he  kept  no  copies),  and  also  some 
others  more  lately  done  at  the  request  of  his  particular  friends. 

Now  when  the  same  were  seen  to  arise  to  a  just  number  sufficient 
to  furnish  a  great  set  of  books :  divers  of  my  friends  aforesaid, 
required  with  great  instance  to  have  them  printed  ;  whereunto  I  was 
as  willing  as  the  rest,  but  could  never  obtain  the  Gentleman's  con- 
sent, though  I  sought  it  by  many  great  means.  For  his  answer  was 
ever,  "  That  those  trifles  (being  but  an  idle  man's  exercise,  of  an 
idle  subject,  written  only  for  private  recreation)  would  blush  to  be 
seen  otherwise  than  by  twilight,  much  more  to  be  brought  into  the 
common  view  of  all  men."  And  seeing  me  still  importunate  ;  he 
took  his  pen,  and  with  an  obstinate  resolution  of  his  former  speech, 
wrote  in  one  of  the  books,  these  verses  of  the  poet  Martial, 


62  Musica  Transalpina. 

Seras  tutior  ibis  ad  lucernas, 
Haec  hora  est  tua,  dum  furit  Lyaeus,  ^ 
Dum  regnat  rosa,  dum  madent  capilli, 
Turn  te  vel  rigidi  legant  Catones. 

Wherefore  I  kept  them,  or  most  of  them,  for  a  long  time  by  me,  not 
presuming  to  put  my  sickle  in  another  man's  corn  ;  till  such  time  as 
I  heard  that  the  same,  being  dispersed  into  many  men's  hands,  were, 
by  some  persons  altogether  unknown  to  the  owner,  likely  to  be 
published  in  print.  Which  made  me  adventure  to  set  this  work  in 
hand  {he  being  neither  privy  nor  present ;  nor  so  near  this  place,  as 
by  any  reasonable  means  I  could  give  him  notice) :  wherein  though 
he  may  take  a  just  offence  that  I  have  laid  open  his  labours  without 
his  licence :  yet  since  they  were  in  hazard  to  come  abroad  by 
strangers,  lame  and  imperfect  by  means  of  false  copies,  I  hope  that 
this  which  I  have  done  to  avoid  a  greater  ill,  shall  deserve  a  more 
favourable  excuse. 

But  seeking  yet  a  stronger  string  to  my  bow  ;  I  thought  good  in 
all  humble  and  dutiful  sort  to  offer  myself  and  my  bold  attempt  to 
the  defence  and  protection  of  your  Lordship  ;  to  whose  honourable 
hands  I  present  the  same  :  assuring  myself,  that  so  great  is  the  love 
and  affection  which  he  beareth  to  your  Lordship,  as  the  view  of  your 
name  in  the  front  of  the  books,  will  take  away  all  displeasure  and 
unkindness  from  me.  And  although  this  may  be  thought  a  greater 
boldness  than  the  first  (I  being  not  anyway  able  to  do  your  Lord* 
ship  such  a  service,  as  may  deserve  so  great  a  favour)  yet  I  hope 
these  Songs,  being  hitherto  well  esteemed  of  all,  shall  be  so  regarded 
of  your  Lordship,  as  I  for  them,  and  they  for  themselves,  shall  not 
be  thought  unworthy  of  your  honourable  defence. 

With  which  hope,  I  humbly  commit  your  Lordship  to  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Almighty ;  wishing  to  the  same,  that  increase  of 
honour  which  your  true  virtue,  derived  from  so  noble  and  renowned 
ancestors,  doth  worthily  deserve. 

From  London,  the  first  of  October,  1588. 

Your  Lordship's  most  humble  at  commandment. 

N  .      Y  O  N  G  E. 


63 


Musica  Transalpine*. 


The  whole  of  the  poems  from  here  to  p.  50,  are  translations  from  the 
Italian  into  English  by  the  unknown  English  gentleman,  Lord  Talbot's 
friend,  referred  to  at  page  33.  The  names  of  the  original  composers  (who 
were  all  famous  musicians  in  the  Low  Countries  and  Italy,  previous  to 
this  date),  are  given,  as  they  stand  above  each  of  the  tunes  in  the  1588 
edition  :  but  it  is  not  clear  whether  they  are  authors  of  the  Italian  words 
here  rendered  into  English,  or  of  the  tunes  only ;  or  of  both. — E.A. 

NOE     FAIGNIENT. 

Hese    that    be    certain    signs   of  my  tor- 
menting, 
No  sighs  they  be,  nor  any  sigh  so  showeth  ; 
Those  have  their  truce  sometimes,  these  no 

relenting  : 
Not  so  exhales  the  heat  that  in  me  gloweth. 
Fierce  Love,  that  burns  my  heart,   makes 
all  this  venting ; 
While,  with  his  wings,  the  raging  fire  he  bloweth. 
Say,  Love  !    With  what  device  thou  canst  for  ever 
Keep  it  in  flames,  and  yet  consume  it  never? 


JEAN      DE     MACQUE. 

He  fair  Diana  never  more  revived 

Her  lover's  heart,  that  spied  her  in  the  fountain, 

While  she  her  naked  limbs  in  water  dived  ; 

Than  me,  the  country  wench,  set  by  the  mountain, 
Washing  a  veil,  to  clothe  the  locks  refined, 
That  on  fair  Laura's  head,  the  gold  resemble : 
Which  made  me  quake,  although  the  sun  then  shined; 
And  every  joint,  with  loving  frost  to  tremble. 


64 


Musica  Transalpina. 


G.  P.  A.  PRENESTINO  (GIOVANNI  PIERLUIGI,  DA  PALESTRINA). 
]Oy  so  delights  my  heart,  and  so  relieves  me, 


When  I  behold  the  face  of  my  beloved  ; 

That  any  hard  mischance  or  pang  that  grieves  me, 

Is  quite  exiled,  and  presently  removed. 

And  if  I  anight,  to  perfect  up  my  pleasure, 

Without  controlment,  bestow  mine  eyes,  where  I  repose  my 
treasure  : 

For  a  crown  and  a  kingdom  sure  possessed, 

I  would  not  change  my  state  so  sweet  and  blessed. 


G.     P.     A.     PRENESTINO.. 

Alse  Love  !  now  shoot  and  spare  not ! 
Now  do  thy  worst !  I  care  not ! 

And  to  despatch  me, 
Use  all  thine  art  and  all  thy  craft  to  catch  me ! 
For    years    amiss   bestowed,    and   time    consumed   in   vain 

pursuits,  I  languish  ; 
That  brought  me  nothing  else,  but  grief  and  anguish  : 
And  now,  at  length,  have  vowed  at  liberty  to  live;  since  to 

assail  me, 
Both  thy  bow  and  thy  brand,  nought  doth  avail  thee. 
For  from  thee  good  nor  ill,  comfort  nor  sorrow, 
I  will  not  hope  nor  fear,  now,  nor  to-morrow. 


BALTHASAR      DONATO, 

Grief  !  If  yet  my  grief  be  not  believed, 
Cry  with  thy  voice  outstretched  ! 
That  her  despiteful  heart,  and  ears  disdaining, 
May  hear  my  just  complaining. 
And  when  thou  hast  her  told,  my  state  most  wretched; 
Tell  her,  "  that  though  my  heart  be  thus  tormented, 
I  could  be  well  contented, 
If  she,  that  now  doth  grieve  me, 
Had  but  the  least  desire,  once,  to  relieve  me." 


Musica  Transalpina.  65 

balthasar  donato. 

S  in  the  night  we  see  the  sparks  revived, 
And  quite  extinct  so  soon  as  day  appeareth ; 
So,  when  I  am,  of  my  sweet  sun  deprived, 
New  fears  approach,  and  joy,  my  heart  forbeareth. 

But  not  so  soon,  she  is  again  arrived ; 

As  fear  retireth,  and  present  hope  me  cheereth. 

O  sacred  light  !  O  turn  again  to  bless  me, 

And  drive  away  this  fear,  that  doth  oppress  me ! 


G.     P.    A.    PRENESTINO. 

Hat  meaneth  Love  to  nest  him  in  the  fair  eyes  admired 
With  lovely  grace  and  heavenly  sp'rit  inspired, 

Of  my  mistress  delightful  ? 
Envious  dames  !  Confess  !  and  be  not  spiteful! 
Oh,  fools !  do  you  not  mind  it ! 
That  Love  hath  sought,  (and  never  yet  could  find  it) 
From  the  sun  rising,  till  where  he  goes  to  rest  him, 
A  braver  place  than  in  her  eyes  to  nest  him  ? 


Q.     P.     A.     PRENESTINO 

*Weet  love  when  hope  was  flow'ring 
With  fruits  of  recompence  for  my  deserving 
Reft  was  the  price  of  all  my  faithful  serving. 
O  spiteful  death,  accursed!  O  life  most  cruel! 
The  first  by  wrong  doth  pain  me, 
And  all  my  hope  hath  turned  to  lamenting : 
The  last  against  my  will,  here  doth  detain  me. 
Fain  would  I  find  my  jewel ; 
But  death,  to  spite  me  more,  is  not  consenting: 
Yet  with  a  mild  relenting, 
Methinks,  within  my  heart,  her  place  she  holdeth ; 
And  what  my  torment  is,  plainly  beholdeth. 
11  E 


66 


Musica  Transai^ina. 


MARC        ANTONIO     PORDENONE 

Ady  !  that  hand  of  plenty 

That  gave  unto  the  needful, 

Did  steal  my  heart  unheedful. 

Sweet  thief  of  love,  so  dainty  ! 

What  will  you  do  by  thieving, 

That  rob  when  you  are  giving  ? 

But  you  do  give  so  surely, 
That  you  may  rob  and  steal  the  more  securely. 

If  sometime  you  be  pleased 

That  my  poor  heart  be  eased : 

You  do  it  not  to  joy  me  ; 
But  still  by  fresh  assaults,  quite  to  destroy  me ! 


JACQUES     DE    WERT. 

fHo  will  ascend  to  heaven,  and  there  obtain  me, 
My  wits  forlorn,  and  silly  sense  decayed  ? 
For  since  I  took  my  wound,  that  sore  doth  pain  me 
From  your  fair  eyes  !  my  sp'rits  are  all  dismayed. 
Nor  of  so  great  a  loss  do  I  complain  me 
If  it  increased  not,  but  in  some  bounds  be  stayed: 
But  if  I  still  grow  worse,  I  shall  be  'lotted 
To  wander  through  the  world,  fond  and  asotted. 


CORNELIUS    VERDOONCK. 

Ady  !  your  look  so  gentle,  so  to  my  heart  deep  sinketh 
That  of  none  other,  nor  of  myself  it  thinketh! 
Why  then  do  you  constrain  me 
To  live  in  plaint,  in  pain  and  sadness  ? 
When  one  sweet  word  may  gain  me 
Peace  to  my  thoughts,  and  everlasting  gladness. 


Musica  Transalpina. 


67 


FILIPPO     DE    MONTE     [P  H  I  L  I  P  P  E  ,   D  E   M  O  N  S]  . 
Rom  what  part  of  the  heaven,  from  what  example 
Brought  was  the  mould  whence  Nature  hath  derived 
That  sweet  face,  full  of  beauty !  in  which  she  strived 
To  prove  in  earth  her  power  above  was  ample. 

Was  never  nymph  nor  sylvan  queen  adored 

That  so  dainty  fine  locks  in  air  displayed  ? 

Nor  heart  divine,  with  so  great  virtue  stored  ? 

Yet  by  her  looks,  my  life  is  all  betrayed. 

The  Second  Part. 

IN  vain  he  seeks  for  beauty  that  excelleth, 
That  hath  not  seen  her  eyes  where  Love  sojourneth ; 
How  sweetly  here  and  there  the  same  she  turneth. 
He  knows  not  how  Love  healeth,  and  how  he  quelleth: 
That  knows  not  how  she  sighs,  and  sweet  beguileth ; 
And  how  she  sweetly  speaks,  and  sweetly  smileth. 

[?   UNKNOWN]. 

N  every  place,  I  find  my  grief  and  anguish, 
Save  where  I  see  those  beams  that  have  me  burned  ; 
And  eke  mine  eyes  to  floods  of  tears  have  turned  : 
Thus  in  extremest  pangs  each  hour  I  languish. 

O  me,  my  shining  star !  so  sweet  and  sacred  ! 

Cause  of  all  comfort!  of  this  world,  the  jewel ! 

For  want  of  thee  !  my  life,  I  have  in  hatred. 

Never  was  grief  so  great,  nor  death  so  cruel ! 

LUCA     MARENZIO. 

Hirsis  to  die  desired 

Marking  her  fair  eyes  that  to  his  heart  was  nearest 
And  she,  that  with  his  flame  no  less  was  fired 
Said  to  him,  "  O  heart's  love!  Dearest ! 

Alas,  forbear  to  die  now  ! 

By  thee,  I  live !     With  thee,  I  wish  to  die  too  !  " 


68  Musica  Transalpina. 

The  Second  Part. 

[Hirsis  that  heat  refrained 
JWherewith  in  haste  to  die  he  did  betake  him 
Thinking  it  death  that  life  would  not  forsake  him. 
And  while  his  look  full  fixed  he  retained 
On  her  eyes  full  of  pleasure  ; 
And  lovely  nectar  sweet  from  them  he  tasted : 
His  dainty  nymph,  that  now  at  hand  espied 
The  harvest  of  love's  treasure, 
Said  thus,  with  eyes  all  trembling,  faint  and  wasted, 

"  I  die  now  !  " 
The  shepherd  then  replied,  "And  I,  sweet  life!  do  die  tool" 

The  Third  Part. 

iHus  those  two  lovers,  fortunately  died 
JOf  death,  so  sweet,  so  happy,  so  desired, 
That  to  die  so  again  their  life  retired. 


ORLANDO     DI     LASSO     [ROLAND    DE    L  A  T  T  R  E]  . 

Usanna  fair,  sometime  of  love  requested 
By  two  old  men,  whom  her  sweet  looks  allured, 
Was  in  her  heart  full  sad  and  sore  molested 
Seeing  the  force  her  chastity  endured. 

To  whom  she  said,  "  If  I,  by  craft  procured, 

Do  yield  to  you  my  body  to  abuse  it, 

I  kill  my  soul ;  and  if  I  do  refuse  it, 

You  will  me  judge  to  death  reproachfully  ! 

But  better  it  is,  in  innocence  to  choose  it ; 

Than  by  my  fault,  t'offend  my  GOD  on  high  ! M 


Musica  Transalpina. 


69 


NOE     FAIGNIENT 

Hen  shall  I  cease  lamenting  ? 

When  shall  my  plaint  and  moaning, 

To  tunes  of  joy  be  turned  ? 

Good  Love  !  Leave  thy  tormenting ! 
Too  long  thy  flames,  within  my  heart  have  burned ! 

O  grant,  alas,  with  quickness 
Some  little  comfort,  for  so  long  a  sickness, 


LUCA     MARENZIO 

Must  depart,  all  hapless  : 
But  leave  to  you  my  careful  heart  oppressed  ! 

So  that,  if  I  live  heartless, 
Love  doth  a  work  miraculous  and  blessed  ; 

But  so  great  pains  assail  me, 
That  sure,  ere  it  be  long,  my  life  will  fail  me. 


ALFONSO     FERABOSCO. 

Saw  my  lady  weeping,  and  Love  did  languish 
And  of  their  plaint,  ensued  so  rare  consenting; 
That  never  yet  was  heard  more  sweet  lamenting, 
Made  all  of  tender  pity  and  mournful  anguish. 
The  floods  forsaking  their  delightful  swelling, 
Stayed  to  attend  their  plaint.     The  winds  enraged, 
Still  and  content,  to  quiet  calm  assuaged, 
Their  wonted  storming  and  every  blast  rebelling. 

The  Second  Part. 

Ike  as  from  heaven  the  dew,  full  softly  show'ring, 
Doth  fall,  and  so  refresh  both  fields  and  closes ; 
Filling  the  parched  flowers  with  sap  and  savour : 
So  while  she  bathed  the  violets  and  roses 
Upon  her  lovely  cheeks,  so  freshly  flow'ring, 
The  Spring  renewed  his  force  with  her  sweet  favour. 


70 


Musica  Transalpina. 


GIOVANNI     FERRETTI 

0  gracious  is  thy  self!  so  fair  !  so  framed  ! 
That  whoso  sees  thee,  without  an  heart  enflamed, 
Either  he  lives  not ; 
Or  love's  delight  he  knows  not. 


GIOVANNI     FERRETTI 

Ruel  !  unkind  !  my  heart  thou  hast  bereft  me  ! 
And  wilt  not  leave,  while  any  life  is  left  me, 
And  yet,  still,  will  I  love  thee  ! 


Wi 


LUCA     MARENZIO. 

Hat  doth  my  pretty  darling  ? 

What  doth  my  song  and  chanting, 

That  they  sing  not  of  her,  the  praise  and  vaunting  ? 

To  her!  I  give  my  violets  and  garland  sweetly  smelling, 

For  to  crown  her  sweet  locks,  pure  gold  excelling. 


stephano    felis 

Leep  !  Sleep  !  mine  only  jewel ; 
Much  more  thou  didst  delight  me, 
Than  my  beloved,  too  cruel, 
That  hid  her  face  to  spite  me. 

The  Second  Part. 


|Hou  bring'st  her  home  full  nigh  me ! 

While  she  so  fast  did  fly  me. 
By  thy  means  !  I  behold  those  eyes  so  shining 
Long  time  absented,  that  look  so  mild  appeased. 

Thus  is  my  grief  declining  ; 
Thou,  in  thy  dreams,  dost  make  desire  well  pleased. 
Sleep  !  if  thou  be  like  death,  as  thou  art  feigned; 
A  happy  life,  by  such  a  death  were  gained. 


Musica  Transalpine  71 

gianetto    di    palestina. 

Ound  out  my  voice  !  with  pleasant  tunes  recording 

The  new  delight,  that  love  to  me  inspireth ; 

Pleased  and  content  with  that  my  mind  desireth. 

Thanked  be  love  !  so  heavenly  joys  affording. 
She  that  my  plaints,  with  rigour  long  rejected, 
Binding  my  heart  with  those  her  golden  tresses, 
In  recompence  of  all  my  long  distresses, 
Said,  with  a  sigh,  "  Thy  grief  hath  me  infected!" 


LUCA     MARENZIO 

Iquid  and  wat'ry  pearls,  Love  wept  full  kindly  ; 

To  quench  my  heart  enflamed: 

But  he,  alas,  unfriendly, 

So  great  a  fire  had  framed  ; 
As  were  enough  to  burn  me, 
Without  recomfort ;  and  into  ashes  turn  me. 


ORLANDO     DI     LASSO. 

He  nightingale,  so  pleasant  and  so  gay, 

In  greenwood  groves,  delights  to  make  his  dwelling. 

In  fields  to  fly,  chanting  his  roundelay  ; 
At  liberty,  against  the  cage  rebelling : 

But  my  poor  heart,  with  sorrows  overswelling, 

Through  bondage  vile,  binding  my  freedom  short; 

No  pleasure  takes  in  these  his  sports  excelling, 

Nor  of  his  song,  receiveth  no  comfort. 


72 


Musica  Transalpina. 


GIOVANNI     FERRETTI. 

Ithin  a  greenwood  sweet  of  myrtle  savour, 
When  as  the  earth  was  with  fair  flowers  revested ; 
1 1  saw  a  shepherd  with  his  nymph  that  rested  : 
Thus  spake  the  nymph,  with  sugared  words  of  favour, 

"  Say,  sweet  love !  to  thy  love!     Tell  me,  my  darling  ! 

Where  is  thy  heart  bestowed  ?     Where  is  thy  liking  ?  " 

The  shepherd  answered  then,  with  a  deep  sighing, 
All  full  of  sweetness,  and  of  sorrow  mixed. 
"  On  thee  !  my  dainty  dear  life !  my  love  is  fixed  !  " 
With  that,  the  gentle  nymph,  full  sweetly  smiling, 
With  kind  words  of  delight  and  flat'ring  gloses, 
She  kindly  kist  his  cheek,  with  lips  of  roses. 


m 


RINALDO     DEL     MELLE. 

Ometime  when  hope  relieved  me,  I  was  contented 
To  see  my  star  so  sightly 
That  shines  so  clear  and  brightly. 
O  since  she  first  consented 
To  leave  the  world,  all  earthly  joy  defying, 
Clouds  of  care  all  about  my  heart  are  flying. 
In  vain,  lament  I ;  since  a  veil  now  hideth 
The  rarest  beauty  that  on  earth  abideth. 


ALFONSO     FERABOSCO 
Ubies,  and  pearls,  and  treasure  ; 

Kingdoms,  renown,  and  glory 
Please  the  delightful  mind,  and  cheer  the  sorry  : 

But  much  the  greater  measure 

Of  true  delight  he  gaineth, 
That  for  the  fruits  of  love,  sues  and  obtaineth. 


Musica  Transalpina.  73 

alfonso   ferabosco. 
Sweet  kiss  !  full  of  comfort,  O  joy,  to  me  envied  ! 
So  often  sought,  so  oft  to  me  denied ; 
For  thee,  my  life  is  wasted  ; 
Yet  thee,  I  never  tasted  ! 
O  lips  so  false  and  wily, 
That  me  to  kiss  provoked,  and  shrank  so  slily  ! 

0  looks  empoisoned  !  O  face  !   Well  may  I  fear  thee  ! 
That  kill'st  who  thee  behold 'st,  and  comes  not  near  thee. 

1  die  a  death  most  painful,  killed  with  unkindness. 

Farewell !  Sweet  lips  disdainful  1 


ALFONSO     FERABOSCO. 

Ometime  my  hope  full  weakly,  went  on  by  line  and 

leisure. 
But  now  it  grows,  to  do  my  heart  some  pleasure. 
Yet  that  my  hope  decay  not,  by  overmuch  contenting, 
Love  will  not  give  my  joys  their  full  augmenting: 

But  still,  with  some  disaster 
Allays  my  bliss,  that  hope  may  be  the  faster. 


GERONIMO     CONVERSI. 

Y  heart  !  alas,  why  dost  thou  love  thine  enemy  ? 
Laughing  so  merrily,  she  goes  with  gladness, 
To  see  thy  grief  and  sadness. 

Cruel  disdain 

Lasting  pain 

No  remedy 
Save  most  singular  beauty,  and  little  pity. 


74 


Musica  Transalpina. 


ALFONSO     FERABOSCO 

Ady,  if  you  so  spite  me, 

Wherefore  do  you  so  oft  kiss  and  delight  me  ? 

Sure,  that  my  heart,  opprest  and  overjoyed, 

May  break,  and  be  destroyed  ! 
If  you  seek  so  to  spill  me, 
Come  kiss  me,  Sweet  and  kill  me ! 
So  shall  your  heart  be  eased  ; 
And  I  shall  rest  content,  and  die  well  pleased. 


Cantio   Rustic  a. 


GIOVANNI     BATTISTA    PINELLI     DE    GERARDIS, 

'Hen  I  would  thee  embrace, 
Thou  dost  but  mock  me  ! 
And  when  I  lament  my  case, 
Thou  criest  "  Ty,  hy  !  " 
And  "  No,  No,  No!"  still  saith  my  pigsny. 


ALFONSO     FERABOSCO. 

Hirsis  enjoyed  the  graces, 

Of  Chloris'  sweet  embraces; 

Yet  both  their  joys  were  scanted, 

For  dark  it  was,  and  candle  light  they  wanted : 
Wherewith  kind  Cynthia,  in  the  heaven  that  shined, 
Her  nightly  veil  resigned; 
And  that  fair  face  disclosed, 
Where  Love  and  Joy  were  met,  and  both  reposed. 
Then  each  from  other's  looks,  such  joy  derived ; 
That  both,  with  mere  delight,  died  and  revived. 


Musica  Transalpina.  75 

william    byrd. 

This  is  Bvrd's  celebrated  La  Verginella. 

He  fair  young  virgin  is  like  the  rose  untainted 
In  garden  fair,  while  tender  stalk  doth  bear  it, 
Sole,  and  untoucht,  with  no  resort  acquainted; 
No  shepherd  nor  his  flock  doth  once  come  near  it  : 

Th'air,  full  of  sweetness,  the  morning  fresh  depainted  ; 

The  earth,  the  water,  with  all  their  favours  cheer  it ; 

Dainty  young  gallants,  and  ladies  most  desired, 

Delight  to  have  therewith  their  heads  and  breasts  attired. 

The  Second  Part. 

Ut  not  so  soon,  from  green  stock  where  it  growed, 
The  same  is  pluckt,  and  from  the  branch  removed  ; 
As  lost  is  all  from  heaven  and  earth  that  flowed  j 
Both  favour,  grace  and  beauty  best  beloved. 
The  virgin  fair,  that  hath  the  flower  bestowed 
(Which  more  than  life  to  guard,  it  her  behoved) 
Loseth  her  praise,  and  is  no  more  desired 
Of  those,  that  late  unto  her  love  aspired. 


LUCA     MARENZIO. 

|  Will  go  die  for  pure  love, 
Except  rage  and  disdain  come  to  recure  love  ; 
Since  in  reward  of  all  my  faithful  serving 
My  lady  gives  disgrace  for  well  deserving : 
And  in  my  flames  sans  measure, 
Takes  her  disport  and  pleasure. 
Unless  some  frost  assuage  this  heat,  and  cure  love, 
I  will  go  die  for  pure  love. 


76 


Musica  Transalpina. 

alfonso   ferabosco. 

O  far  from  my  delight,  what  cares  torment  me  ? 

Fields  do  record  it,  and  valleys,  woods,  and  mountains, 

And  running  rivers,  and  reposed  fountains  ; 

Where  I  cry  out,  and  to  the  heavens  lament  me; 
None  other  sounds  but  tunes  of  my  complaining, 
Nymphs  of  the  groves,  or  pleasant  bird  once  heareth  : 
Still  recount  I  my  grief  and  her  disdaining, 
To  every  plant  that  groweth  or  blossom  beareth. 


The  Second  Part. 


I|He  only  doth  not  feel  it,  O  fields  !  0  mountains ! 
|0  woods  !   O  valleys  !  O  floods  and  fountains  ! 
O  stay  no  more  to  hear  a  wretch  appealing ! 
O  that  some  one,  this  life  and  soul  would  sever, 
And  these  mine  eyes  oppressed,  would  close  for  ever, 
For  best  were  me  to  die ;  my  love  concealing. 


[   ?    UNKNOWN.] 
[0  here,  my  heart  in  keeping, 
I  leave  with  her  that  laughs  to  see  me  weeping. 
0,  what  comfort  or  treasure 
Is  life,  with  her  displeasure  ? 
Break  heart!  and  die  then  !  that  she  that  still  doth  pain  me, 
May  live  the  more  content,  when  grief  hath  slain  me- 


Musica  Transalpina.  yy 

LUCA     MARENZIO. 

Ow  must  I  part,  my  darling, 
Of  life  and  soul  disseised, 
(And  love  therewith  is  pleased. 
O,  what  a  death  is  parting  ! 
But  if  the  fates  ordain  it, 
Who  can  refrain  it  ? 
O,  what  grief  is  now  lacking  ? 
Yet  needs  I  must  be  packing, 
Farewell !  Sweet  heart  unfeigned  I 
I  die,  to  part  constrained. 


GERONIMO     CONVERSI. 

Ephirus  brings  the  time  that  sweet  scenteth 
With  flowers  and  herbs ;  and  winter's  frost  exileth. 
Progne  now  chirpeth,  and  Philomele  lamenteth. 
Flora,  the  garlands  white  and  red  compileth. 
Fields  do  rejoice,  and  frowning  sky  relenteth. 
Jove,  to  behold  his  dearest  daughter,  smileth. 
Th'air,  the  water,  the  earth  to  joy  consenteth. 
Each  creature  now  to  love,  him  reconcileth. 


The  Second  Part. 


JUt  with  me,  wretch  !   the  storms  of  woe  persever 
jAnd  heavy  sighs,  which  from  my  heart  she  straineth, 
That  took  the  key  thereof  to  heaven  for  ever: 
So  that  singing  of  birds,  and  springtime  flow'ring, 
And  ladies'  love  that  men's  affection  gaineth, 
Are  like  a  desert,  and  cruel  beasts'  devouring. 


78  Musica  Transalpina. 

ALFONSO     FERABOSCO. 

Was  full  near  my  fall,  and  hardly  'scaped, 
Through  fond  desire  that  headlong  me  transported : 
And  with  the  darts,  and  with  the  nets  I  sported ; 
That  Love  himself,  for  me  devised  and  shaped. 
And  if  my  reason,  but  a  while,  had  stayed 
To  rule  my  sense,  misled  and  unadvised  ; 
To  my  mishap,  I  had,  no  doubt,  assayed 
W!  at  a  death  is,  to  live  by  love  surprised* 

The  Second  Part. 

Ut  as  the  bird  that,  in  due  time,  espying 

The  secret  snares  and  deadly  bush  enlimed ; 

Quick  to  the  heaven  doth  mount  with  song  and  pleasure: 

Trains  of  false  looks  and  faithless  words  defying, 

Mounting  the  hill  so  hard  for  to  be  climbed, 

I  sing  for  joy  of  liberty  the  treasure. 


LUCA      MARENZIO. 

Sang  sometime  the  freedom  of  my  fancy 
The  fire  extinct,  the  yoke  and  bonds  subdued; 
With  heart  congealed,  I  quencht  the  burning  frensy 
And  with  disdain  the  harmful  bait  eschewed. 
But,  now,  I  wail  my  bonds  and  my  enchaining, 
Naked,  unarmed,  in  lovely  nets  engaged  : 
Nor  by  tears  can  I  find,  nor  by  complaining, 
Mercy,  nor  comfort,  nor  my  grief  assuaged. 

The  Second  Part. 

Ecause  my  Love,  too  lofty  and  despiteful ; 
While  I,  with  sighs,  resound  her  name  delightful, 
Doth  smile  ;  when  as  the  flame,  my  life  depriveth. 
If  I  seek  to  break  off  the  strings  that  bind  me, 
The  more  I  fly,  the  faster  I  do  find  me ; 
Like  a  bird  in  the  snare,  in  vain,  that  striveth. 


John  Dowland,  Bachelor  of  Music, 

The  First  "Book  of  Songs  or  zAirs. 

1597. 


"^ 


To    the    Right    Honourable 

Sir    GEORGE    CAREY, 

of  the  noble  order  of  the  garter,  knight, 

Baron   of    Hunsdon,    Captain   of    Her    Majesty's 

Gentlemen  Pensioners,  Governor  of  the  Isle  of  Wight 

Lieutenant  of  the  County  of  Southampton,  Lord 

Chamberlain  of  Her  Majesty's  most  royal 

House ;  and  of  Her  Highness's  most 

honourable  Privy  Council. 


II AT  harmony,  Right  Honourable !  which  is 
skilfully  expressed  by  instruments :  albeit,  by 
reason  of  the  variety  of  number  and  propor- 
tion of  itself,  it  easily  stirs  up  the  minds  of  the 
hearers  to  admiration  and  delight;  yet  for 
higher  authority  and  power,  hath  been  ever 
worthily  attributed  to  that  hind  of  music  which 
to  the  sweetness  of  [the]  instrument  applies  the  lively  voice  of  man, 
expressing  some  worthy  sentence,  or  excellent  poem.  Hence,  as  all 
antiquity  can  witness,  first  grew  the  heavenly  Art  of  Music :  for 
Linus,  Orpheus,  and  the  rest,  according  to  the  number  and 
time  of  their  Poems,  first  framed  the  numbers  and  times  of  Music. 
So  that  Plato  defines  Melody  to  consist  of  Harmony,  Number, 

11  F 


82  Dedication  to  Lord  Hunsdon. 

and  Words  :  Harmony,  naked  of  itself ;  Words,  the  ornament  of 
Harmony;  Number,  the  common  friend  and  uniter  of  them  both. 

This  small  book  containing  the  consent  of  speaking  harmony, 
joined  with  the  most  musical  instrument,  the  Lute,  being  my  first 
labour,  I  have  presumed  to  dedicate  to  your  Lordship :  who,  for 
your  virtue  and  nobility,  are  best  able  io  protect  it;  and  for  your 
honourable  favours  towards  me,  best  deserving  my  duty  and  service. 
Besides,  your  noble  inclination  and  love  to  all  good  arts,  and 
namely  [particularly]  the  divine  science  of  Music,  doth  challenge 
the  Patronage  of  all  Learning  ;  than  which  no  greater  title  can  be 
added  to  Nobility. 

Neither  in  these  your  honours,  may  I  let  pass  the  dutiful  re- 
membrance of  your  virtuous  Lady,  my  honourable  mistress,  whose 
singular  graces  towards  me  have  added  spirit  to  my  unfortunate 
labours. 

What  time  and  diligence  I  have  bestowed  in  the  Search  of  Music, 
what  travels  in  foreign  countries,  what  success  and  estimation,  even 
among  strangers,  I  have  found,  I  leave  to  the  report  of  others. 
Yet  all  this  in  vain,  were  it  not  that  your  honourable  hands  have 
vouchsafed  to  uphold  my  poor  fortunes :  which  I  now  wholly  recom- 
mend to  your  gracious  protection,  with  these  my  first  endeavours, 
humbly  beseeching  you  to  accept  and  cherish  the  same  with  your 
continued  favours. 

Your  Lordship's  most  humble  servant, 

JOHN    DOWLAND. 


83 


To  the  Courteous  Reader. 

Ow  hard  an  enterprise  it  is,  in  this  skilful  and 
curious  Age,  to  commit  our  private  labours  to  the 
public  view,  mine  own  disability  and  others'  hard 
success  do  too  well  assure  me  :  and  were  it  not 
for  that  love  I  bear  to  the  true  lovers  of  music,  I  had 
concealed  these  my  first  fruits  ;  which  how  they  will  thrive 
with  your  taste  I  know  not,  howsoever  the  greater  part 
of  them  might  have  been  ripe  enough  by  their  age.  The 
Courtly  judgement,  I  hope  will  not  be  severe  against  them, 
being  itself  a  party  ;  and  those  sweet  Springs  of  Humanity,  I 
mean  our  two  famous  Universities,  will  entertain  them  for 
his  sake  whom  they  have  already  graced,  and,  as  it  were,  en- 
franchised in  the  ingenuous  profession  of  Music:  which,  from 
my  childhood  I  have  ever  aimed  at,  sundry  times  leaving  my 
native  country,  the  better  to  attain  so  excellent  a  science. 

About  sixteen  year's  past  [i.e.,  in  1580],  I  travelled  the 
chiefest  parts  of  France,  a  nation  furnished  with  great  variety 
of  Music;  but  lately,  being  of  a  more  confirmed  judgement,  I 
bent  my  course  towards  the  famous  provinces  of  Germany, 
where  I  found  both  excellent  Masters,  and  most  honourable 
patrons  of  music,  namely,  those  two  miracles  of  this  Age  for 
virtue  and  magnificence,  Henry  Julio,  Duke  of  Brunswick, 
and  the  learned  Maurice,  Landgrave  of  Hesse  ;  of  whose 
princely  virtues  and  favours  towards  me,  I  can  never  speak 
sufficiently.  Neither  can  I  forget  the  kindness  of  Alexandro 
Horologio,  a  right  learned  master  of  music,  servant  to  the 


84       To  the  Courteous  Reader. 

royal  Prince,  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse,  and  Gregorio  Howet, 
Lutenist  to  the  magnificent  Duke  of  Brunswick ;  both  [of] 
whom  I  name,  as  well  for  their  love  to  me  as  also  for  their 
excellency  in  their  faculties. 

Thus  having  spent  some  months  in  Germany,  to  my  great 
admiration  of  that  worthy  country ;  I  passed  over  the  Alps 
into  Italy,  where  I  found  the  Cities  furnished  with  all  good 
arts,  but  especially  music.  What  favour  and  estimation  I 
had  in  Venice,  Padua,  Genoa,  Ferrara,  Florence,  and  divers 
other  places,  I  willingly  suppress  ;  lest  I  should,  [in]  any  way, 
seem  partial  in  mine  own  endeavours.  Yet  I  cannot  dis- 
semble the  great  content  I  found  in  the  proffered  amity  of 
the  most  famous  Luca  Marenzio,  whose  sundry  letters  I 
received  from  Rome ;  and  one  of  them,  because  it  is  but 
short,  I  have  thought  good  to  set  down,  not  thinking  it  any 
disgrace  to  be  proud  of  the  judgement  of  so  excellent  a  man 

Molto  magnifico  Signior  mio  osservandissimo. 

Per  una  lettera  del  Signior  Alderigo  Malvezi  ho  inteso 
quanto  con  cortese  affeto  si  mostri  desideroso  di  essermi  congionto 
cTamicitia,dove  infinitamente  la  ringratio  di  questo  suo  biion'animo, 
offer  endomegli  aU'incontro  se  in  alcuna  cosa  la  posso  servire,  poi 
che  gli  meriti  delle  siu  infinite  virtu,  e  qualita  mcritano  die  ogni 
uno  e  me  V ammirino  e  osservino,  e  per  fine  di  questo  le  bascio  le 
mani.     Di  Roma,  a'  13.  di  Luglio.     1595. 

D.V.S.  Affettionatissimo  servitore, 

LUCA    MARENZIO. 

Not  to  stand  too  long  upon  my  travels :  I  will  only  name 
that  worthy  Master,  Giovanni  Crochio,  Vice-master  of  the 
Chapel  of  Saint  Mark's  in  Venice;  with  whom  I  had  familiar 
conference. 

And  thus  what  experience  I  could  gather  abroad  ;  I  am 
now  ready  to  practice  at  home,  if  I  may  but  find  encourage- 
ment in  my  first  assays. 


To  the  Courteous  Reader.       85 

There  have  been  divers  Lute  Lessons  of  mine  lately 
printed  without  my  knowledge,  false  and  imperfect :  but  I 
purpose  shortly  myself  to  set  forth  the  choicest  of  all  my 
Lessons  in  print,  and  also  an  Introduction  for  Fingering ;  with 
other  Books  of  Songs,  whereof  this  is  the  first.  And  as  this 
finds  favour  with  you,  so  shall  I  be  affected  to  labour  in  the 
rest.     Farewell  1 

John   Dowland, 


Thom^    Campiani. 
Epigramma.     De  instituto  authoris. 

Famam,  posteritas  quam  dedit  ORPHEO, 
Dolandi  melius  MusiCA  dat  sibi, 
Fugaces  reprimens  archetypis  sonos  ; 
Quas  et  delitias  prcebuit  auribus, 
jfpsis  conspicuas  luminibus  facit. 


86 


John    Dowland. 


The  First  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs, 


|  Nquiet  thoughts,  your  civil  slaughter  stint, 
And  wrap    your   wrongs  within  a  pensive 

heart  : 
And    you,    my   tongue,    that     makes     my 

mouth  a  mint, 
And    stamps  my  thoughts,    to  coin  them 
words  by  art, 
Be  still !     For  if  you  ever  do  the  like, 
I'll  cut  the  string,  that  makes  the  hammer  strike. 

But  what  can  stay  my  thoughts,  they  may  not  start  ? 

Or  put  my  tongue  in  durance  for  to  die  ? 

When  as  these  eyes,  the  keys  of  mouth  and  heart 

Open  the  lock,  where  all  my  love  doth  lie. 

I'll  seal  them  up  within  their  lids  for  ever; 

So  thoughts  and  words  and  looks  shall  die  together. 

How  shall  I  then  gaze  on  my  mistress'  eyes  ? 

My  thoughts  must  have  some  vent,  else  heart  will  break. 

My  tongue  would  rust,  as  in  my  mouth  it  lies ; 

If  eyes  and  thoughts  were  free,  and  that  not  speak. 

Speak  then  !  and  tell  the  passions  of  Desire, 

Which  turns  mine  eyes  to  floods,  my  thoughts  to  fire. 


Songs  or  Airs.  87 

Hoever  thinks,  or  hopes  of  love  for  love  ? 
Or  who  beloved,  in  Cupid's  laws  doth  glory  ? 
I  Who  joys  in  vows,  or  vows  not  to  remove  : 
Who, by  this  light  god,  hath  not  been  made  sorry? 
Let  him  see  me  !  eclipsed  from  my  sun ; 
With  dark  clouds  of  an  earth,  quite  overrun. 

Who  thinks  that  sorrows  felt,  desires  hidden, 
Or  humble  faith  in  constant  honour  armed, 
Can  keep  love  from  the  fruit  that  is  forbidden  ? 
Who  thinks  that  change  is  by  entreaty  charmed  ? 
Looking  on  me  ;  let  him  know  Love's  delights 
Are  treasures  hid  in  caves,  but  kept  by  sprites ! 


Y  Thoughts  are  winged  with  Hopes,  my  Hopes  with 

Love. 
Mount  Love  unto  the  moon  in  clearest  night ! 
And  say,  "  As  she  doth  in  the  heavens  move, 
In  earth  so  wanes  and  waxeth  my  delight." 
And  whisper  this,  but  softly,  in  her  ears  ! 

"  Hope  oft  doth  hang  the  head,  and  Trust  shed  tears." 

And  you,  my  Thoughts,  that  some  mistrust  do  carry ! 
If  for  mistrust,  my  mistress  do  you  blame, 
Say,  "  Though  you  alter,  yet  you  do  not  vary 
As  she  doth  change  ;  and  yet  remain  the  same  : 
Distrust  doth  enter  hearts,  but  not  infect ; 

And  love  is  sweetest,  seasoned  with  suspect." 

If  she  for  this,  with  clouds  do  mask  her  eyes, 
And  make  the  heavens  dark  with  her  disdain  ; 
With  windy  sighs  disperse  them  in  the  skies  I 
Or  with  thy  tears  dissolve  them  into  rain  ! 
Thoughts,  Hopes,  and  Love  return  to  me  no  more, 
Till  Cynthia  shine,  as  she  hath  done  before ! 


88  [ohn   Dowland's  First  Book 

I    my  complaints  could  passions  move, 

Or  make  Love  see  wherein  I  suffer  wrong; 

My  passions  were  enough  to  prove 

That  my  despairs  had  governed  me  too  long. 

O  Love,  I  live  and  die  in  thee  ! 

Thy  wounds  do  freshly  bleed  in  me  ! 

Thy  grief  in  my  deep  sighs  still  speaks, 

Yet  thou  dost  hope  when  I  despair ! 

My  heart  for  thy  unkindness  breaks ! 

Thou  say'st,  "  Thou  can'st  my  harms  repair." 

And  when  I  hope :  thou  mak'st  me  hope  in  vain  ! 

Yet  for  redress,  thou  let'st  me  still  complain ! 

Can  Love  be  rich,  and  yet  I  want  ? 

Is  Love  my  judge,  and  yet  am  I  condemned  ? 

Thou  plenty  hast,  yet  me  dost  scant ! 

Thou  made  a  god,  and  yet  thy  power  contemned! 

That  I  do  live,  it  is  thy  power  ! 

That  I  desire,  it  is  thy  worth  ! 

If  love  doth  make  men's  lives  too  sour, 

Let  me  not  love,  nor  live  henceforth  ! 

Die  shall  my  hopes,  but  not  my  faith, 

That  you,  that  of  my  fall  may  hearers  be, 

May  hear  Despair,  which  truly  saith, 

"  I  was  more  true  to  Love,  than  Love  to  me." 


An  she  excuse  my  wrongs  with  virtue's  cloak  ? 
Shall  I  call  her  good,  when  she  proves  unkind  ? 
Are  those  clear  fires,  which  vanish  into  smoke  ? 
Must  I  praise  the  leaves,  where  no  fruit  I  find  ? 

No  !  No  !     Where  shadows  do  for  bodies  stand, 
Thou  may'st  be  abused,  if  thy  sight  be  dim. 
Cold  love  is  like  to  words  written  on  sand  ; 
Or  to  bubbles,  which  on  the  water  swim. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  89 

Wilt  thou  be  abused  still, 
Seeing  that  she  will  right  thee  never  ? 
If  thou  can'st  not  o'ercome  her  will, 
Thy  love  will  be  thus  fruitless  ever ! 

Was  I  so  base,  that  I  might  not  aspire, 

Unto  those  high  joys,  which  she  holds  from  me  ? 

As  they  are  high,  so  high  is  my  desire, 

If  she  this  deny,  what  can  granted  be  ? 

If  she  will  yield  to  that  which  reason  is, 
It  is  Reason's  will,  that  Love  should  be  just. 
Dear  !  make  me  happy  still,  by  granting  this, 
Or  cut  off  delays,  if  that  die  I  must ! 

Better  a  thousand  times  to  die, 
Than  for  to  live  thus  still  tormented  : 
Dear!  but  remember  it  was  I, 
Who,  for  thy  sake,  did  die  contented  ! 

Ow,  O  now,  I  needs  must  part, 

Parting,  though  I  absent  mourn ; 

Absence  can  no  joy  impart, 

Joy  once  fled,  cannot  return. 

While  I  live,  I  needs  must  love, 

Love  lives  not,  when  hope  is  gone. 

Now  at  last  despair  doth  prove 

Love  divided,  loveth  none. 

Sad  despair  doth  drive  me  hence, 
This  despair,  unkindness  sends ; 
If  that  parting  be  offence, 
It  is  she  which  then  offends. 

Dear  !  when  I  from  thee  am  gone, 
Gone  are  all  my  joys  at  once. 
I  loved  thee,  and  thee  alone  ! 
In  whose  love  I  joyed  once  : 


90  John  Dowland's  First  Book 

And  although  your  sight  I  leave, 
Sight  wherein  my  joys  do  lie; 
Till  that  death  do  sense  bereave, 
Never  shall  affection  die  ! 

Sad  despair  doth  drive  me  hence,  &c. 

Dear  !  if  I  do  not  return, 
Love  and  I  shall  die  together. 
For  my  absence  never  mourn  ! 
Whom  you  might  have  joyed  ever. 
Part  we  must,  though  now  I  die, 
Die  I  do,  to  part  with  you  : 
Him  despair  doth  cause  to  lie 
Who  both  lived  and  dieth  true. 

Sad  despair  doth  drive  me  hence,  &c. 

Ear,  if  you  change  !  I'll  never  choose  again. 
Sweet,  if  you  shrink  !  I'll  never  think  of  love. 
Fair,  if  you  fail !  I'll  judge  all  beauty  vain. 
Wise,  if  too  weak !  more  wits  I'll  never  prove. 

Dear !  sweet !  fair  !  wise  !  change,  shrink,  nor 
be  not  weak  ; 

And,  on  my  faith !  my  faith  shall  never  break. 

Earth  with  her  flowers  shall  sooner  heaven  adorn  ; 
Heaven  her  bright  stars,  through  earth's  dim  globe  shall  move. 
Fire,  heat  shall  lose  ;  and  frosts,  of  flames  be  born  ; 
Air  made  to  shine,  as  black  as  hell  shall  prove  : 

Earth,  heaven,  fire,  air,  the  world  transformed 
shall  view, 

Ere  I  prove  false  to  faith,  or  strange  to  you  ! 

Urst  forth  my  tears  !     Assist  my  forward  grief ! 
And  show  what  pain,  imperious  love  provokes ! 
Kind  tender  lambs,  lament  love's  scant  relief, 
And  pine,  since  pensive  care  my  freedom  yokes. 
O  pine  to  see  me  pine,  my  tender  flocks  ! 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  91 

Sad  pining  Care,  that  never  may  have  peace, 
At  Beauty's  gate,  in  hope  of  pity  knocks  ; 
And  Mercy  sleeps  while  deep  disdains  increase; 
And  Beauty,  hope  in  her  fair  bosom  yokes, 

0  grieve  to  hear  my  grief,  my  tender  flocks  ! 

Like  to  the  winds,  my  sighs  have  winged  been, 
Yet  are  my  sighs  and  suits  repaid  with  mocks  ; 

1  plead,  yet  she  repineth  at  my  teen. 

O  ruthless  rigour  !  harder  than  the  rocks  ! 

That  both  the  shepherd  kills,  and  his  poor  flocks 

O  crystal  tears !  like  to  the  morning  showers, 
And  sweetly  weep  into  thy  lady's  breast ! 
And  as  the  dews  revive  the  drooping  flowers, 
So  let  your  drops  of  pity  be  addresst ! 

To  quicken  up  the  thoughts  of  my  desert, 
Which  sleeps  too  sound ;    whilst  I  from  her 
depart. 

Haste  hapless  sighs  !  and  let  your  burning  breath 

Dissolve  the  ice  of  her  indurate  heart  ! 

Whose  frozen  rigour,  like  forgetful  Death, 

Feels  never  any  touch  of  my  desert. 

Yet  sighs  and  tears  to  her,  I  sacrifice  : 
Both,  from  a  spotless  heart,  and  patient  eyes. 

Hink'st  thou,  then,  by  feigning 
Sleep,  with  a  grand  disdaining; 
Or,  with  thy  crafty  closing, 
Thy  cruel  eyes  reposing  ; 
To  drive  me  from  thy  sight  I 
When  sleep  yields  more  delight, 
Such  harmless  beauty  gracing  : 
And  while  sleep  feigned  is 
May  not  I  steal  a  kiss 
Thv  quiet  arms  embracing  ? 


92  John  Dowland's  First  Book 

O  that  thy  sleep  dissembled, 
Were  to  a  trance  resembled! 
Thy  cruel  eyes  deceiving, 
Of  lively  sense  bereaving  : 
Then  should  my  love  requite 
Thy  love's  unkind  despite, 
While  fury  triumphed  boldly 
In  beauty's  sweet  disgrace; 
And  lived  in  deep  embrace 
Of  her  that  loved  so  coldly, 

Should  then  my  love  aspiring, 
Forbidden  joys  desiring, 
So  far  exceed  the  duty 
That  Virtue  owes  to  Beauty  ? 
No  !  Love  seek  not  thy  bliss 
Beyond  a  simple  kiss  ! 
For  such  deceits  are  harmless 
Yet  kiss  a  thousand  fold ; 
For  kisses  may  be  bold 
When  lovely  sleep  is  armless. 


Ome  away  !  come,  sweet  love  ! 
The  golden  morning  breaks  ; 
All  the  earth,  all  the  air, 
Of  love  and  pleasure  speaks  ; 
Teach  thine  arms  then  to  embrace, 
And  sweet  rosy  lips  to  kiss, 
And  mix  our  souls  in  mutual  bliss ; 
Eyes  were  made  for  beauty's  grace 
Viewing,  ruing,  love's  long  pains  ; 
Procured  by  beauty's  rude  disdain. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  93 

Come  away  !  come,  sweet  love  ! 

Do  not  in  vain  adorn 

Beauty's  grace,  that  should  rise 

Like  to  the  naked  morn  : 

Lilies  on  the  river's  side, 

And  fair  Cyprian  flowers  newly  blown, 

Desire  no  beauties  but  their  own  : 

Ornament  is  Nurse  of  Pride. 

Pleasure  measure,  love's  delight, 

Haste  then,  sweet  love,  our  wished  flight  ! 


Est  awhile,  you  cruel  cares, 
Be  not  more  severe  than  love, 
Beauty  kills  and  beauty  spares, 
And  sweet  smiles,  sad  sighs  remove. 
Laura,  fair  Queen  of  my  delight ! 
Come  grant  me  love,  in  love's  despite, 
And  if  I  ever  fail  to  honour  thee, 
Let  this  heavenly  light  I  see, 
Be  as  dark  as  hell  to  me  ! 

If  I  speak  !  My  words  want  weight. 

Am  I  mute  !  My  heart  doth  break. 

If  I  sigh  !     She  fears  deceit. 

Sorrow  then  for  me,  must  speak. 

Cruel !  unkind  !  with  favour  view 

The  wound  that  first  was  made  by  you  ; 

And  if  my  torments  feigned  be, 
Let  this  heavenly  light  I  see, 
Be  as  dark  as  hell  to  me  ! 

Never  hour  of  pleasing  rest, 

Shall  revive  my  dying  ghost, 

Till  my  soul  hath  repossesst 

The  sweet  hope,  which  love  hath  lost : 


94  John  Dowland's  First  Book 

Laura  !  redeem  the  soul  that  dies 
By  fury  of  thy  murdering  eyes, 
And  if  it  proves  unkind  to  thee, 
Let  this  heavenly  light  I  see, 
Be  as  dark  as  hell  to  me ! 


Leep  wayward  thoughts,  and  rest  you  with  my  Love  ; 
Let  not  my  Love,  be  with  my  love  diseased ; 
Touch  not  proud  hands,  lest  you  her  anger  move, 
But  pine  you  with  my  longings  long  displeased : 
Thus  while  she  sleeps,  I  sorrow  for  her  sake, 
So  sleeps  my  Love ;  and  yet  my  love  doth  wake. 

But  O,  the  fury  of  my  restless  fear, 
The  hidden  anguish  of  my  flesh  desires  ! 
The  glories  and  the  beauties  that  appear 
Between  her  brows,  near  Cupid's  closed  fires  ! 
Thus  while  she  sleeps,  moves  sighing  for  her  sake, 
So  sleeps  my  Love ;  and  yet  my  love  doth  wake. 

My  love  doth  rage,  and  yet  my  Love  doth  rest ; 
Fear  in  my  love,  and  yet  my  Love  secure; 
Peace  in  my  Love,  and  yet  my  love  opprest ; 
Impatient,  yet  of  perfect  temperature. 
Sleep  dainty  Love,  while  I  sigh  for  thy  sake; 
So  sleeps  my  Love ;  and  yet  my  love  doth  wake. 


Ll  ye,  whom  love  or  fortune  hath  betrayed, 
All  ye  that  dream  of  bliss,  but  live  in  grief ; 
All  ye  whose  hopes  are  evermore  delayed, 
All  ye  whose  sighs  or  sickness  want  relief: 
Lend  ears  and  tears  to  me,  most  hapless  man, 
That  sings  my  sorrows  like  the  dying  swan 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  95 

Care  that  consumes  the  heart  with  inward  pain. 
Pain  that  presents  sad  care  in  outward  view ; 
Both,  tyrant-like,  enforce  me  to  complain, 
But  still  in  vain,  for  none  my  plaints  will  rue : 
Tears,  sighs,  and  ceaseless  cries  alone  I  spend. 
My  woe  wants  comfort,  and  my  sorrow,  end. 


Ilt  thou,  Unkind  !  thus  'reave  me 
Of  my  heart,  and  so  leave  me  ? 
Farewell ! 

But  yet,  or  ere  I  part,  O  Cruel, 
Kiss  me  Sweet,  my  Jewel, 
Farewell ! 

Hope  by  disdain  grows  cheerless 
Fear  doth  love,  love  doth  fear 
Beauty  peerless. 
Farewell ! 

If  no  delays  can  move  thee, 
Life  shall  die,  death  shall  live 
Still  to  love  thee. 
Farewell ! 

Yet  be  thou  mindful  ever, 
Heat  from  fire,  fire  from  heat, 
None  can  sever. 
Farewell ! 

True  love  cannot  be  changed, 
Though  delight  from  desert 
Be  estranged. 
Farewell ! 


96 


John  Dowland's  First  Book 


Ould  my  conceit  that  first  inforced  my  woe, 
Or  else  mine  eyes,  which  still  the  same  increase, 
Might  be  extinct,  to  end  my  sorrows  so  ; 
Which  now  are  such,  as  nothing  can  release. 
Whose  life  is  death  ;    whose  sweet,  each  change  ol 

sour ; 
And  eke  whose  hell  reneweth  every  hour. 


Each  hour,  amidst  the  deep  of  hell  I  fry, 
Each  hour,  I  waste  and  wither  where  I  sit ; 
But  that  sweet  hour,  wherein  I  wish  to  die, 
My  hope,  alas,  may  not  enjoy  it  yet. 
Whose  hope  is  such  bereaved  of  the  bliss, 
Which  unto  all,  save  me,  allotted  is. 

To  all,  save  me,  is  free  to  live  or  die  ; 
To  all,  save  me,  remaineth  hap  or  hope. 
But  all,  perforce,  I  must  abandon  ! 
Since  Fortune  still  directs  my  hap  aslope ; 
Wherefore  to  neither  hap  nor  hope  I  trust, 
But  to  my  thrals  I  yield:  for  so  I  must. 


Ome  again  !  Sweet  love  doth  now  invite 

Thy  graces  that  refrain 

To  do  me  due  delight ; 
To  see,  to  hear,  to  touch,  to  kiss, 
To  die  with  thee  again  in  sweetest  sympathy  ! 


Come  again  !  that  I  may  cease  to  mourn 
Through  thy  unkind  disdain  ! 
For  now,  left  and  forlorn, 
I  sit,  I  sigh,  I  weep,  I  faint,  I  die 
In  deadly  pain,  and  endless  misery. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  97 

All  the  day,  the  sun  that  lends  me  shine 

By  frowns  doth  cause  me  pine, 

And  feeds  me  with  delay. 
Her  smiles,  my  springs,  that  make  my  joys  to  grow: 

Her  frowns,  the  winters  of  my  woe. 

All  the  night,  my  sleeps  are  full  of  dreams, 

My  eyes  are  full  of  streams  ; 

My  heart  takes  no  delight 
To  see  the  fruits  and  joys  that  some  do  find, 
And  mark  the  storms  are  me  assigned. 

Out,  alas  !  my  faith  is  ever  true  ; 

Yet  she  will  never  rue, 

Nor  yield  me  any  grace. 
Her  eyes,  of  fire ;  her  heart  of  flint  is  made  : 
Whom  tears  nor  truth  may  once  invade. 

Gentle  LOVE  draw  forth  thy  wounding  dart, 

Thou  can'st  not  pierce  her  heart, 

For  I  (that  do  approve 
By  sighs  and  tears,  more  hot  than  are  thy  shafts) 
Did  'tempt,  while  she  for  triumph  laughs. 


ii 


Is  golden  locks,  Time  hath  to  silver  turned. 
O  Time  too  swift!  O  swiftness  never  ceasing! 
His  Youth,  'gainst  Time  and  Age  hath  ever  spurned, 
But  spurned  in  vain,  Youth  waneth  by  increasing. 
Beauty,  Strength,  Youth  are  flowers  but  fading  seen ; 
Duty,  Faith,  Love  are  roots,  and  ever  green. 
G 


98  John  Dowland's  First  Book 

His  helmet,  now,  shall  make  a  hive  for  bees, 
And  lover's  Sonnets  turn  to  holy  Psalms ; 
A  man-at-arms  must,  now,  serve  on  his  knees, 
And  feed  on  prayers,  which  are  Age's  alms : 

But  though  from  Court  to  cottage  he  depart, 
His  Saint  is  sure  of  his  unspotted  heart. 

And  when  he  saddest  sits,  in  homely  cell, 
H'll  teach  his  swains  this  Carol  for  a  Song; 
Blest  be  the  hearts  that  wish  my  Sovereign  well! 
Curst  be  the  soul  that  thinks  her  any  wrong ! 

Goddess  !  Allow  this  aged  man  his  right  ! 

To  be  your  Beadsman  now;  that  was  your  Knight, 


Wake,  sweet  love  !  Thou  art  returned, 

My  heart,  which  long  in  absence  mourned, 

Lives  now  in  perfect  joy. 

Only  herself  hath  seemed  fair  ; 

She  only  could  I  love ; 

She  only  drave  me  to  despair, 

When  she  unkind  did  prove. 

Let  love  which  never,  absent,  dies ; 
Now  live  for  ever  in  her  eyes, 
Whence  came  my  first  annoy  : 
Despair  did  make  me  wish  to  die 
That  I  my  joys  might  end, 
She  only,  which  did  make  me  fly, 
My  state  may  now  amend. 

If  she  esteem  thee  now  ought  worth  ; 
She  will  not  grieve  thy  love  henceforth. 

Which  so  despair  hath  proved. 
Despair  hath  proved  now  in  me 
That  love  will  not  unconstant  be, 

Though  long  in  vain  I  loved. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  99 

If  she,  at  last,  reward  thy  love 

And  all  thy  harms  repair, 
Thy  happiness  will  sweeter  prove, 

Raised  up  from  deep  despair. 
And  if  that  now  thou  welcome  be, 

When  thou  with  her  doth  meet ; 
She  all  this  while,  but  played  with  thee, 

To  make  thy  joys  more  sweet. 

Ome,  heavy  Sleep,  the  Image  of  true  Death, 
And  close  up  these  my  weary  weeping  eyes, 
Whose  spring  of  tears  doth  stop  my  vital  breath, 
And  tears  my  heart  with  sorrow's  sigh-swollen  cries. 

Come,  and  possess  my  tired  thoughts  !  worn  soul ! 

That  living  dies,  till  thou  on  me  bestoule ! 

Come,  Shadow  of  my  End,  and  Shape  of  Rest, 
Allied  to  Death,  Child  to  this  black-fast  Night ! 
Come  thou,  and  charm  these  rebels  in  my  breast, 
Whose  waking  fancies  doth  my  mind  affright. 
O  come,  sweet  Sleep  !  Come,  or  I  die  for  ever ! 
Come  ere  my  last  sleep  comes,  or  come  never ! 

Way  with  these  self-loving  lads, 
Whom  Cupid's  arrow  never  glads  ; 
Away  poor  souls  that  sigh  and  weep, 
In  love  of  them  that  lie  and  sleep, 
For  Cupid  is  a  meadow  god, 
And  forceth  none  to  kiss  the  rod. 

God  Cupid's  shaft,  like  Destiny, 

Doth  either  good  or  ill  decree  ; 

Desert  is  borne  out  of  his  bow, 

Reward  upon  his  feet  doth  go. 

What  fools  are  they,  that  have  not  known 
That  Love  likes  no  laws,  but  his  own  ! 


ioo     Dowland's  First  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs. 

My  songs,  they  be  Cynthia's  praise  : 
I  wear  her  rings  on  holidays. 
On  every  tree,  I  write  her  name, 
And  every  day  I  read  the  same : 

Where  Honour,  Cupid's  rival  is, 

There  miracles  are  seen  of  his. 

If  Cynthia  crave  her  ring  of  me, 
I'll  blot  her  name  out  of  the  tree, 
If  doubt  do  darken  things  held  dear, 
Then  "  Well  fare  nothing !  "  once  a  year  t 

For  many  run,  but  one  must  win. 

Fools  only,  hedge  the  cuckoo  in ! 

The  worth  that  worthiness  should  move 

Is  love ;  which  is  the  bow  of  Love  : 

And  love  as  well  the  For'ster  can, 

As  can  the  mighty  Nobleman. 

Sweet  saint,  'tis  true,  you  worthy  be, 
Yet,  without  love,  nought  worth  to  me. 


IOI 


John    Dowland,    Bachelor   of   Music,    &c,    and 
Lutenist  to  Christian  IV.,  King  of  Denmark. 

The    Second    Book    of    Sonqs    or    Airjs. 

1600. 


Tothe  Right   Honourable,  the 
Lady  LUCY,  Countess  of  BEDFORD. 

XcELLENT  Lady  !  I  send  unto  your  Ladyship 
from  the  Court  of  a  foreign  Prince,  this  Volume 
of  my  Second  Labours,  as  to  the  worthiest 
Patronness  of  Music;  which  is  the  noblest  of  all 
sciences.  For  the  whole  frame  of  Nature  is 
nothing  hit  Harmony,  as  well  in  souls,  as  [in] 
bodies.  And  because  I  am  now  removed  from 
your  sight,  I  will  speak  boldly ;  that  your 
Ladyship  shall  be  unthankful  to  Nature  herself,  if  you  do  not 
love  and  defend  that  Art,  by  which  she  hath  given  you  so  well 
tuned  a  mind ! 

Your  Ladyship  hath  in  yourself,  an  excellent  agreement  of  many 
virtues  ;  of  which,  though  I  admire  all,  yet  I  am  bound  by  my  pro- 
fession, to  give  especial  honour  to  your  knowledge  of  Music :  which, 
in  the  judgement  of  ancient  times,  was  so  proper  an  excellency  in 
women,  that  the  Muses  took  their  name  from  it ;  and  yet  so  rare, 
that  the  world  durst  imagine  but  Nine  of  them. 

I  most  humbly  beseech  your  Ladyship  to  receive  this  work  into 
your  favour ;  and  the  rather,  because  it  cometh  far,  to  beg  it  of  you. 
From  Elsinore  in  Denmark,  the  first  of  June,  1600. 
Your  Ladyship's,  in  all  humble  devotion, 

JOHN  DOWLAND. 


102 


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To  the   Right   Noble  and   Virtuous   Lady 
Lucy,  Countess  of   Bedford, 

G[eorge].  Eastland. 
To   J.   Dowland' s   Ltite. 

L  UTE  I  Arise,  and  charm  the  air, 
U  ntil  a  thousand  forms  she  bear  ! 
C  onjure  them  all,  that  they  repair 
I  nto  the  circles  of  her  ear  ; 
E  ver  to  dwell  in  concord  there  ! 

B  y  this,  thy  tunes  may  have  access 

E  ven  to  her  spirit,  whose  flowing  treasure 

D  oth  sweetest  harmony  express  ; 

F  tiling  all  ears  and  hearts  with  pleasure  : 

O  n  earth,  observing  heavenly  measure. 

R  ight  well  can  she  judge  and  defend  them  ! 

D  oubt  not  of  that,  for  she  can  mend  them  ! 


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io3 


To  the  Courteous  Reader. 

Gentlemen, 

F  the  consideration  of  mine  own  estate,  or  the 
true  worth  of  money  had  prevailed  with  me  above 
the  desire  of  pleasuring  you  and  shewing  my  love 
to  my  friend,  these  Second  Labours  of  Master 
Dowland — whose  very  name  is  a  large  Preface  of  commenda- 
tions to  the  book — had  for  ever  lain  hid  in  darkness,  or  at 
the  least  frozen  in  a  cold  and  foreign  country. 

I  assure  you  that  both  my  charge  and  pains  in  publishing 
it,  hath  exceeded  ordinary:  yet  thus  much  I  have  to  assure 
me  of  requittal,  that  neither  the  work  is  ordinary;  nor  are 
your  judgements  ordinary,  to  whom  I  present  it !  so  that  I 
have  no  reason  but  to  hope  for  good  increase  in  my  labours, 
especially  of  your  good  favours  towards  me;  which  of  all 
things  I  most  esteem.  Which  if  I  find  in  this,  I  mean  shortly, 
GOD  willing,  to  set  at  liberty  for  your  service,  a  prisoner 
taken  at  Cadiz :  who,  if  he  discovers  not  something,  in 
matter  of  music,  worthy  your  knowledge  ;  let  the  reputation 
of  my  judgement  in  music  answer  it ! 

In  the  meantime,  I  commend  my  absent  friend  to  your 
remembrance  !  and  myself,  to  your  favourable  conceits  ! 

GEORGE   EASTLAND. 
From  my  house  near  The  Green  Dragon  and  Swordt 
in  Fleet  Street. 


io4 


John    Dowland. 


The  Second  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs, 


To  the  most  famous  Anthony  Holborne. 


Saw  my  Lady  weep, 

And  Sorrow  proud  !  to  be  advanced  so 

In  those  fair  eyes,  where  all  perfections  keep ; 

Her  face  was  full  of  woe, 
But  such  a  woe  (believe  me ! )  as  wins  more 

hearts 
Than  Mirth  can  do,  with  her  enticing  parts. 


Sorrow  was  there  made  fair, 
And  Passion,  wise;   Tears,  a  delightful  thing; 
Silence,  beyond  all  speech,  a  wisdom  rare ; 

She  made  her  sighs  to  sing, 
And  all  things  with  so  sweet  a  sadness  move  ; 
As  made  my  heart  at  once  both  grieve  and  love. 

O  Fairer  than  ought  else 
The  world  can  shew,  leave  off,  in  time,  to  grieve, 
Enough,  enough  !     Your  joyful  look  excels  ! 

Tears  kill  the  heart,  believe, 
O  strive  not  to  be  excellent  in  woe, 
Which  only  breeds  your  beauty's  overthrow. 


Songs  or  Airs. 


105 


Ldcrimce. 

Low,  my  tears  !  fall  from  your  springs  ; 

Exiled  for  ever,  let  me  mourn 
Where  night's  black  bird,  her  sad  infamy  sings, 
There,  let  me  live  forlorn  : 
Never  may  my  woes  be  relieved,  since  pity  is  fled  ; 
And  tears,  and  sighs,  and  groans,  my  weary  days,  of  all  joys 
have  deprived. 

Down  vain  lights  !     Shine  you  no  more, 

No  nights  are  dark  enough  for  those, 
That  in  despair,  their  last  fortunes  deplore. 
Light  doth  but  shame  disclose  : 
From  the  highest  spire  of  contentment,  my  fortune  is  thrown ; 
And  fear,  and  grief,  and  pain,  for  my  deserts,  are  my  hopes ; 
since  hope  is  gone. 

Hark,  you  shadows !  that  in  darkness  dwell, 
Learn  to  contemn  light  ; 
Happy  !  happy  they,  that,  in  hell, 
Feel  not  the  world's  despite! 


Orrow  !  Sorrow,  stay  !     Lend  true  repentant  tears 
To  a  woful  wretched  wight ; 
Hence  !  hence,  Despair!  with  thy  tormenting  fears. 
O  do  not,  my  poor  heart  affright : 
Pity  !  Pity,  help  now,  or  never !  Mark  me  not  to  endless  pain  : 
Alas,  I  am  condemned  ever,  no  hope  there  doth  remain, 
But  down,  down,  down,  down  I  fall ; 
And  arise,  I  never  shall. 


Ie  not  before  thy  day  !  poor  man  condemned, 
But  lift  thy  low  looks  from  th'  humble  earth  ; 
Kiss  not  Despair,  and  see  sweet  Hope  contemned, 
The  hag  hath  no  delight,  but  moan  for  mirth : 


io6 


John  Dowland's  Second  Book 


O  fie,  poor  fondling!  fie,  be  willing 
To  preserve  thyself  from  killing  ! 
Hope,  thy  keeper,  glad  to  free  thee, 
Bids  thee  go  !  and  will  not  see  thee. 
Hie  thee,  quickly,  from  thy  wrong  ! ' 
So  She  ends  her  willing  song. 


Ourn  !     Day  is  with  darkness  fled  ! 
What  heaven  then  governs  earth  ? 
O  none,  but  hell,  in  heaven's  stead, 
Chokes  with  his  mists,  our  mirth. 


Mourn  !     Look,  now,  for  no  more  day  ! 
Nor  night,  but  that  from  hell ; 
Then  all  must,  as  they  may, 
In  darkness  learn  to  dwell. 

But  yet  this  change  must  change  our  delight, 
That  thus  the  Sun  should  harbour  with  the  Night. 


Ime's  eldest  son,  Old  Age  (the  Heir  of  Ease, 
Strength's  Foe,  Love's  Woe,  and  Foster  to  Devotion) 
Bids  gallant  Youth  in  martial  prowess  please ! 
As  for  himself,  he  hath  no  earthly  motion  ;      [fices, 
But  thinks  Sighs,  Tears,  Vows,  Prayers,  and  Sacri- 
As  good  as  Shows,  Masks,  Jousts,  or  Tilt  devices. 


Then  sit  thee  down!  and  say  thy  Nunc  dimitis  I 

With  De  profundis,  Credo,  and  Te  DE  UM  ! 

Chant  Miserere,  for  what  now  so  fit  is 

As  that,  or  this,  Paratum  est  cor  meum ! 

O  that  thy  Saint  would  take  in  worth  thy  heart ! 

Thou  canst  not  please  her  with  a  better  part. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  107 

When  others  sing  Venite  exultemus  ! 

Stand  by,  and  turn  to  Noli  emulari  I 

For  Quare  fremuerunt,  use  Or  emus  I 

Vivat  Eliza  !  for  an  Ave  Mari  ! 

And  teach  those  Swains  that  live  about  thy  cell ; 

To  sing  Amen,  when  thou  dost  pray  so  well ! 


Raise  blindness,  Eyes  !  for  seeing  is  deceit. 
Be  dumb,  vain  Tongue  !  words   are  but  flattering 

winds. 
Break  Heart,  and  bleed  !  for  there  is  no  receipt 
To  purge  inconstancy  from  most  men's  minds. 

And  so  I  waked  amazed,  and  could  not  move  ; 

I  know  my  dream  was  true,  and  yet  I  love. 

And  if  thine  Ears,  false  heralds  to  thy  heart, 
Convey  into  thy  head,  hopes  to  obtain ; 
Then  tell  thy  hearing,  thou  art  deaf  by  Art  ; 
Now,  Love  is  Art;  that  wonted  to  be  plain. 

And  so  I  waked  amazed,  and  could  not  move  ; 

I  know  my  dream  was  true,  and  yet  I  love  ! 

Now  none  is  bald,  except  they  see  his  brains, 
Affection  is  not  known,  till  one  be  dead, 
Reward  for  love,  are  labours  for  his  pains, 
Love's  quiver  made  of  gold,  his  shafts  of  lead. 

And  so  I  waked  amazed,  and  could  not  move  ; 

I  know  my  dream  was  true,  and  yet  I  love. 

To   Master   HUGH   HOLLAND. 

Rom  Fame's  desire,  from  Love's  delight  retired; 
In  these  sad  groves,  an  hermit's  life  I  lead : 
And  those  false  pleasures,  which  I  once  admired, 
With  sad  remembrance  of  my  fall,  I  dread. 


108  John  Dowland's  Second  Book 

To  birds,  to  trees,  to  earth,  impart  I  this  ; 
For  she  less  secret,  and  as  senseless  is  ; 

O  sweet  woods  !  the  delight  of  solitariness  ! 

O  how  much  do  I  love  your  solitariness ! 

Experience  which  repentance  only  brings, 
Doth  bid  me,  now,  my  heart  from  Love  estrange  ; 
Love  is  disdained,  when  it  doth  look  at  kings ; 
And  Love  low  placed,  base  and  apt  to  change. 
There,  Power  doth  take  from  him  his  liberty, 
Her  Want  of  Worth  makes  him  in  cradle  die  ! 
O  sweet  woods !  the  delight  of  solitariness, 
O  how  much  do  I  love  your  solitariness  ! 

You  men  that  give  false  worship  unto  Love, 
And  seek  that  which  you  never  shall  obtain  ; 
The  endless  work  of  Sisyphus  you  procure, 
Whose  end  is  this,  to  know  you  strive  in  vain. 
Hope  and  Desire,  which  now  your  idols  be, 
You  needs  must  lose,  and  feel  Despair  with  me  : 
O  sweet  woods  !  the  delight  of  solitariness, 
O  how  much  do  I  love  your  solitariness  ! 

You  woods  !  in  you,  the  fairest  Nymphs  have  walked, 
Nymphs,  at  whose  sights  all  hearts  did  yield  to  love. 
You  woods  !  in  whom  dear  lovers  oft  have  talked, 
How  do  you  now  a  place  of  mourning  prove  ? 
Wansted,  my  Mistress,  saith,  "  This  is  the  doom, 
Thou  art  Love's  childbed  !  nursery  !  and  tomb  !  " 
O  sweet  woods  !  the  delight  of  solitariness, 
O  how  much  do  I  love  your  solitariness  ! 


Ine  knacks  for  ladies  !  cheap  !  choice !  brave  !  and 

new ! 
Good  pennyworths,  but  money  cannot  move; 
I  keep  a  fair,  but  for  the  Fair  to  view  I 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  109 

A  beggar  may  be  liberal  of  love. 

Though  all  my  wares  be  trash,  the  heart  is  true, 

The  heart  is  true, 
The  heart  is  true. 

Great  gifts  are  guiles,  and  look  for  gifts  again, 
My  trifles  come,  as  treasures  from  my  mind, 
It  is  a  precious  jewel  to  be  plain, 
Sometimes  in  shell,  th'  orientest  pearls  we  find. 
Of  others,  take  a  sheaf !  of  me,  a  grain, 

Of  me,  a  grain, 

Of  me,  a  grain  ! 

Within  this  pack,  pins  !  paints  !  laces !  and  gloves ! 
And  divers  toys  fitting  a  country  fair  ; 
But  my  heart,  where  duty  serves  and  loves, 
Turtles  and  twins  !  Court's  brood  !  a  heavenly  pair ! 
Happy  the  heart  that  thinks  of  no  removes, 

Of  no  removes 

Of  no  removes  ! 


'Ow  cease  my  wand'ring  eyes, 
Strange  beauties  to  admire  ; 
In  change  least  comfort  lies. 
Long  joys  yield  long  desire. 
One  faith,  one  love, 
Make  our  frail  pleasures  eternal,  and  in  sweetness  prove, 

New  hopes,  new  joys 
Are  still,  with  sorrow,  declining  unto  deep  annoys. 

One  man  hath  but  one  soul 

Which  Art  cannot  divide ; 
If  all  one  soul  must  love, 

Two  loves  must  be  denied. 


no  John  Dowland's  Second  Book 

One  soul,  one  love, 
By  faith  and  merit  united,  cannot  remove ; 

Distracted  spirits 
Are  ever  changing,  and  hapless  in  their  delights. 

Nature,  two  eyes  hath  given, 

All  beauty  to  impart, 
As  well  in  earth  as  heaven  : 
But  She  hath  given  one  heart ! 
That  though  we  see, 
Ten  thousand  beauties,  yet  in  us  One  should  be  ! 

One  stedfast  love  ! 
Because  our  hearts  stand  fixed,  although  our  eyes  do  move 


Ome,  ye  heavy  States  of  Night, 

Do  my  father's  spirit  right ; 

Soundings  baleful,  let  me  borrow, 

Burthening  my  song  with  sorrow. 

Come  Sorrow,  come  !  Her  eyes  that  sings, 
By  thee,  are  turned  into  springs. 

Come,  You  Virgins  of  the  Night, 
That,  in  dirges'  sad  delight  ! 
Quire  my  anthems  !  I  do  borrow 
Gold  nor  pearl,  but  sounds  of  sorrow. 

Come  Sorrow,  come  !  Her  eyes  that  sings. 

By  thee,  are  turned  into  springs. 


H  ite  as  lilies  was  her  face, 

When  She  smile  3, 
She  beguiled, 
Quitting  faith,  with  foul  disgrace. 
Virtue,  Service,  thus  neglected, 
Heart  with  sorrows  hath  infected. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  i  i  i 

When  I  swore  my  heart  her  own, 

She  disdained, 

I  complained, 
Yet  She  left  me  overthrown, 
Careless  of  my  bitter  groaning, 
Ruthless,  bent  to  no  relieving. 

Vows,  and  oaths,  and  faith  assured, 

Constant  ever, 

Changing  never  ; 
Yet  She  could  not  be  procured, 
To  believe  my  pains  exceeding 
From  her  scant  neglect  proceeding. 

O  that  Love  should  have  the  art, 

By  surmises, 

And  disguises, 
To  destroy  a  faithful  heart, 
Or  that  wanton  looking  women, 
Should  reward  their  friends,  as  foemen ! 

All  in  vain,  is  Ladies'  love  ; 

Quickly  choosed, 

Shortly  losed. 
For  their  pride  is  to  remove  ; 
Out,  alas !  Their  looks  first  won  us, 
And  their  pride  hath  straight  undone  us  1 

To  thyself,  the  sweetest  Fair, 

Thou  hast  wounded, 

And  confounded 
Changeless  Faith,  with  foul  Despair ; 
And  my  service  hath  envied; 
And  my  succours  hath  denied  ! 


ii2  John  Dowland's  Second  Book 

By  thine  error,  thou  hast  lost 

Heart  unfeigned, 
Truth  unstained ; 
And  the  Swain,  that  loved  most : 
More  assured  in  love  than  many, 
More  despised  in  love  than  any. 

For  my  heart,  though  set  at  nought ; 
Since  you  will  it, 
Spoil  and  kill  it ! 

I  will  never  change  my  thought ! 

Rut  grieve  that  Beauty  e'er  was  born 

Thus  to  answer  Love  with  scorn. 


Oful  Heart,  with  grief  oppressed  ! 
Since  my  fortunes  most  distressed, 

From  my  joys  hath  me  removed. 
Follow  those  sweet  eyes  adored  ! 
Those  sweet  eyes,  wherein  are  stored, 
All  my  pleasures  best  beloved. 

Fly,  my  Breast !     Leave  me  forsaken  ! 
Wherein  Grief  his  seat  hath  taken  ; 

All  his  arrows  through  me  darting. 
Thou  mayest  live  by  her  sunshining, 
I  shall  suffer  no  more  pining 

By  thy  loss,  than  by  her  parting. 

Shepherd  in  a  shade,  his  plaining  made 

Of  love,  and  lover's  wrong, 
Unto  the  fairest  Lass,  that  trode  on  grass, 

And  thus  began  his  song  : 
"  Since  Love  and  Fortune  will,  I  honour  still 

Your  fair  and  lovely  eye  ; 
What  conquest  will  it  be,  sweet  Nymph  !  for  thee ! 

If  I,  for  sorrow  die  ? 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  h^ 

Restore !  restore,  my  heart  again  ! 

Which  love,  by  thy  sweet  looks  hath  slain  ! 

Lest  that,  enforced  by  your  disdain, 

I  sing  ■  Fie  on  love  !  it  is  a  foolish  thing !  ■ 

"  My  heart  where  have  you  laid,  O  cruel  Maid, 
To  kill,  when  you  might  save, 
Why  have  ye  cast  it  forth,  as  nothing  worth, 

Without  a  tomb,  or  grave  ? 
O  let  it  be  entombed,  and  lie 

In  your  sweet  mind  and  memory  ; 
Lest  I  resound  on  every  warbling  string, 

1  Fie  !  fie  on  love  !  that  is  a  foolish  thing !  * 
Restore  !  restore,  my  heart  again, 
Which  love,  by  thy  sweet  looks  hath  slain, 
Lest  that,  enforced  by  your  disdain, 
I  sing  '  Fie  on  love !  it  is  a  foolish  thing ! '  " 


Hall  I  sue  ?  shall  I  seek  for  grace  ? 

Shall  I  pray  ?  shall  I  prove  ? 
Shall  I  strive  to  a  heavenly  joy, 

With  an  earthly  love  ? 
Shall  I  think  that  a  bleeding  heart, 

Or  a  wounded  eye, 
Or  a  sigh,  can  ascend  the  clouds, 

To  attain  so  high  ? 

Silly  wretch  !  Forsake  these  dreams 

Of  a  vain  Desire  ! 
O  bethink  what  high  regard, 

Holy  hopes  do  require  ; 
Favour  is  as  fair  as  things  are, 

Treasure  is  not  bought, 
Favour  is  not  won  with  words, 

Nor  the  wish  of  a  thought. 
ii  H 


1 14  John  Dowland's  Second  Book 

Pity  is  but  a  poor  defence 

For  a  dying  heart : 
Ladies'  eyes  respect  no  moan 

In  a  mean  desert. 
She  is  too  worthy  far, 

For  a  worth  so  base  ; 
Cruel,  and  but  just  is  She, 

In  my  just  disgrace. 

Justice  gives  each  man  his  own. 

Though  my  love  be  just, 
Yet  will  not  She  pity  my  grief, 

Therefore  die  I  must  : 
Silly  heart !  then  yield  to  die  ! 

Perish  in  despair ! 
Witness  yet,  how  fain  I  die, 

When  I  die  for  the  Fair ! 


Oss  not  my  soul,  O  Love  !  'twixt  hope  and  fear, 
Show  me  some  ground  where  I  may  firmly  stand, 
Or  surely  fall !  I  care  not  which  appear  ! 
So  one  will  close  me  in  a  certain  band. 

When  once  of  ill,  the  uttermost  is  known ; 

The  strength  of  sorrow  quite  is  overthrown. 

Take  me,  Assurance  !  to  thy  blissful  hold  ; 

Or  thou,  Despair,  unto  thy  darkest  cell ; 

Each  hath  full  rest !     The  one,  in  joys  enroll'd : 

Th'  other,  in  that  he  fears  no  more,  is  well. 
When  once  the  uttermost  of  ill  is  known, 
The  strength  of  sorrow  quite  is  overthrown  ! 


of  Songs  or  Airs. 


115 


Lear  or  cloudy,  sweet  as  April  show'ring, 
Smooth  or  frowning,  so  is  her  Face  to  me. 
Pleased  or  smiling,  like  mild  May  all  flow'ring : 
When  skies,  blue  silk,  and  meadows,  carpets  be. 
Her  Speeches,  notes  of  that  night  bird  that  singeth, 
Who,  thought  all  sweet,  yet  jarring  notes  outringeth. 


Her  Grace,  like  June,  when  earth  and  trees  be  trimmed 

In  best  attire,  of  complete  beauty's  height. 

Her  Love  again,  like  Summer's  days  be  dimmed, 

With  little  clouds  of  doubtful  constant  faith. 

Her  Trust,  her  Doubt,  like  rain  and  heat  in  skies ; 

Gently  thund'ring,  She  light'ning  to  mine  eyes. 

Sweet  Summer  !  Spring  !  that  breatheth  life  and  growing 

In  weeds,  as  into  herbs  and  flowers  ; 

And  sees  of  service,  divers  sorts  in  sowing, 

Some  haply  seeming,  and  some  being  yours  : 

Rain  on  your  herbs  and  flowers  that  truly  seem, 

And  let  your  weeds  lack  dew,  and  duly  starve  ! 


a 


A   Dialogue. 

Umour,  say!  What  mak'st  thou  here 
In  presence  of  a  Queen  ? 
Thou  art  a  heavy  leaden  mood  ! 

Chorus.  But  never  Humour  yet  was  true, 
But  that  which  only  pleaseth  you ! 


Princes  hold  conceit  most  dear, 
All  conceit  in  Humour  seen  ; 
Humour  is  Invention's  food. 


1 1 6     Dowland's  Second  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs 

Chorus.  But  never  Humour  yet  was  true, 
But  that  which  only  pleaseth  you ! 

O,  I  am  as  heavy  as  earth, 

Say,  then,  who  is  Humour  now  ? 

Why,  then,  'tis  I  am  drowned  in  woe  ? 

Chorus.  But  never  Humour  yet  was  true., 
But  that  which  only  pleaseth  you ! 

I  am  now  inclined  to  mirth, 
Humour  I,  as  well  as  thou  ! 
No,  no  Wit  is  cherished  so. 

Chorus.  But  never  Humour  yet  was  true, 
But  that  which  only  pleaseth  you! 

Mirth,  then,  is  drowned  in  Sorrow's  brim. 
No,  no,  fool !    The  light  things  swim ; 
Heavy  things  sink  to  the  deep  ! 

Chorus.  But  never  Humour  yet  was  true, 
But  that  which  only  pleaseth  you! 

O,  in  sorrow,  all  things  sleep ! 
In  her  presence,  all  things  smile; 
Humour,  frolic  then  awhile  ! 

Chorus.  But  never  Humour  yet  was  true, 
But  that  which  only  pleaseth  you  ! 

[Then  follows  a  piece  of  instrumental  music,  entitled 

D  o  w  land's  Adieu  for  Master  Oliver  Cromwell.] 


ii7 


John  Dow  land,  Bachelor  of  Music,  &c,  and 
Lutenist  to  Christian   IV.,  King  of  Denmark. 

The    Third    and    Jh  a  3  t    Book    of 

SONQS     OR     A  I  R  j5. 
I  603. 


To     MY     HONOURABLE    GOOD    FRIEND 

JOHN    SOUCH,  Esquire  : 

for   many  courtesies,  for  which   I   embolden    myself; 

presuming  of  his   good  favour,    to   present 

this  simple  work,  as  a  token  of  my 

thankfulness. 

He  estimation  and  kindness,  which  I  have  ever 
bountifully  received  from  your  favour,  have 
moved  me  to  present  this  novelty  of  Music  to 
you :  who,  of  all  others,  are  fittest  to  judge  of 
it,  and  worthiest  out  of  your  love,  to  protect  it. 
If  I  gave  life  to  these,  you  gave  spirit  to  me  ! 
for  it  is  always  the  worthy  respect  of  others, 
that  makes  Art  prosper  in  itself.  That  I  may  therefore  possess, 
and  make  manifest  to  the  world,  your  singular  affection  to  me  ;  and 
my  grateful  mind,  in  my  weak  ability,  to  you :  I  have  here  pre- 


i  iS 


The  Epistle  to  the  Reader. 


fixed  your  honourable  name,  as  a  bulwark  of  safety  and  a  title  of 
grace  ;  thinking  myself  no  way  able  to  deserve  your  favours  more, 
than  by  further  engaging  myself  to  you,  for  this  your  noble  pre- 
sumed patronage.  "  He  that  hath  acknowledged  a  favour,"  they  say, 
"hath  half  repaid  it! "  ;  and  if  such  payment  may  pass  for  current,  I 
shall  be  ever  ready  to  grow  the  one  half  out  of  your  debt :  though 
how  that  should  be,  I  know  not  t  since  I  owe  myself,  and  more  {if 
it  were  possible)  unto  you. 

Accept  me  wholly  then,  I  beseech  you,  in  what  terms  you  please  ! 
being  ever,  in  my  uttermost  service, 

Devoted  to  your  Honour's  kindness, 

JOHN    DOW  L  A  N  D. 


3& 


The  Epistle  to  the  Reader. 


'a 


He  applause  of  them  that  judge,  is  the  encourage- 
ment of  those  that  write.  My  first  two  Books  of 
Airs  sped  so  well,  that  they  have  produced  a  third, 
which  they  have  fetched  far  from  home,  and 
brought  even  through  the  most  perilous  seas :  where  having 
escaped  so  many  sharp  rocks ;  I  hope  they  shall  not  be 
wracked  on  land,  by  curious  and  biting  censures.  As  in  a 
hive  of  bees,  all  labour  alike  to  lay  up  honey  ;  opposing  them- 
selves against  none  but  fruitless  drones :  so  in  the  House  of 
Learning  and  Fame,  all  good  endeavours  should  strive  to 
add  somewhat  that  is  good,  not  malicing  one  another;  but 
altogether  banding  against  the  idle  and  malicious  ignorant. 
My  labours,  for  my  part,  I  freely  offer  to  every  man's 
judgement !  presuming,  that  favour  once  attained,  is  more 
easily  increased  than  lost. 

John    Dowland. 


ii9 


John    Dowland. 


The   Third  and  Last  Book  of 
Songs  or  Airs. 

Arewell,  too  fair  !  too  chaste  !  but  too  too 

cruel ! 
Discretion  never  quenched  fire  with  swords  I 
Why   hast   thou    made   my   heart,   thine 

anger's  fuel ; 
And  now  would  kill  my  Passions  with  thy 

words  ? 
This  is  Proud  Beauty's  true  anatomy. 
If  that  secure,  severe  in  secrecy,  farewell. 

Farewell  too  dear  !  and  too  too  much  desired ! 
Unless  compassion  dwelt  more  near  thy  heart. 
Love  by  neglect  (though  constant)  oft  is  tired  ! 
And  forc'd  from  bliss,  unwillingly  to  part. 

This  is  Proud  Beauty's  true  anatomy. 

If  that  secure,  severe  in  secrecy,  farewell. 


Ime  stands  still,  with  gazing  on  her  face  ! 
Stand  still,  and  gaze  !  for  minutes,  hours,  and  years, 

to  her  give  place. 
All  other  things  shall  change  !  but  She  remains  the 
same, 
Till  heavens  changed  have  their  course,  and  Time  hath  lost 
his  name. 


I  20 


John  Dowland's  Third  Book 


Cupid  doth  hover  up  and  down,  blinded  with  her  fair  eyes  ! 
And  Fortune  captive  at  her  feet,  contemned  and  conquered 
lies! 

When  Fortune,  Love,  and  Time  attend  on 
Her  with  my  fortunes,  love,  and  time,  I  honour  will  alone, 
If  bloodless  Envy  say,  "  Duty  hath  no  desert !  " 
Duty  replies,  that  "  Envy  knows,  herself,  his  faithful  heart !  " 
My  settled  vows  and  spotless  faith,  no  fortune  can  remove ! 
Courage  shall  shew  my  inward  faith  !  and  faith  shall  try  my 
love  1 


Ehold  a  wonder  here  : 
Love  hath  received  his  sight. 
Which,  many  hundred  years, 
Hath  not  beheld  the  light. 

Such  beams  infused  be, 
By  Cynthia  in  his  eyes; 
As  first  have  made  him  see, 
And  then  have  made  him  wise. 


Love  now  no  more  will  weep 
For  them,  that  laugh  the  while, 
Nor  wake  for  them  that  sleep, 
Nor  sigh  for  them  that  smile. 

So  powerful  is  the  Beauty, 
That  Love  doth  now  behold ; 
As  Love  is  turned  to  Duty, 
That's  neither  blind,  nor  bold. 

This  Beauty  shews  her  might, 
To  be  of  double  kind  ; 
In  giving  Love  his  sight, 
And  striking  Folly  blind. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  121 


5J3|Aphne  was  not  so  chaste,  as  she  was  changing, 
Soon  begun,  Love  with  Hate  estranging. 

He  that  to-day  triumphs,  with  favours  graced 
Falls  before  night,  with  scorns  defaced. 
Yet  is  thy  beauty  feigned !  and  every  one  desires 
Still,  the  false  light  of  thy  trait'rous  fires  ! 

Beauty  can  want  no  grace  by  true  love  viewed, 

Fancy  by  looks  is  still  renewed ; 

Like  to  a  fruitful  tree  it  ever  groweth, 
Or  the  fresh  spring  that  endless  floweth. 

But  if  that  Beauty  were  of  one  consent  with  Love 

Love  should  live  free,  and  true  pleasure  prove ! 


E  !  me  !  and  none  but  me !  Dart  home  !  O  gentle 
Death  ! 
And  quickly !  for  I  draw  too  long  this  idle  breath. 
O  how  long  till  I  may  fly  to  heaven  above, 
Unto  my  faithful  and  beloved  turtle  dove  ! 

Like  to  the  silver  swan  before  my  death  I  sing ! 
And  yet  alive,  my  fatal  knell  I  help  to  ring ! 
Still  I  desire  from  earth,  and  earthly  joys  to  fly ! 
He  never  happy  lived,  that  cannot  love  to  die ! 


Ay,  Love  !  if  ever  thou  didst  find 
A  woman  with  a  constant  mind  ?  " 

"  None  but  one  !  " 
"  And  what  should  that  rare  mirror  be  ? 
Some  goddess  or  some  Queen  is  she  ?" 
She  !  She  !  She  !  and  only  She  ! 
She,  only  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty! 

"  But  could  thy  fiery  poisoned  dart, 
At  no  time,  touch  her  spotless  heart, 
Nor  come  near  ? " 


122  John  Dowland's  Third  Book 

"  She  is  not  subject  to  Love's  bow. 

Her  eye  commands,  her  heart  saith  '  No  I ' ! 

No!  no!  no!  and  only  No  ! 

One  No  !  another  still  doth  follow. 

"  How  might  I  that  fair  wonder  know, 
That  mocks  Desire  with  endless  '  No  ! '  ?  " 

"  See  the  Moon  ! 
That  ever  in  one  change  doth  grow; 
Yet  still  the  same,  and  She  is  so  ! " 
So  !  so  !  so  !  and  only  so  ! 
From  heaven,  her  virtues  she  doth  borrow. 

"  To  her,  then,  yield  thy  shafts  and  bow, 
That  can  command  affections  so!  " 

"  Love  is  free, 
So  are  her  thoughts  that  vanquish  thee !  " 
There  is  no  Queen  of  Love  but  She!  " 
She  !  She  !  She  !  and  only  She  ! 
She,  only  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty ! 


Low  not  so  fast,  ye  fountains, 

What  needeth  all  this  haste  ? 

Swell  not  above  your  mountains, 

Nor  spend  your  time  in  waste  ! 

Gentle  springs  !  freshly  your  salt  tears 
Must  still  fall,  dropping  from  their  spheres. 

Weep  not  apace,  whom  Reason 

Or  lingering  Time  can  ease  ; 

My  sorrow  can  no  season, 

Nor  ought  besides  appease. 

Gentle  springs  !  freshly  your  salt  tears 
Must  still  fall,  dropping  from  their  spheres. 


of  Songs  or  Airs. 


123 


Time  can  abate  the  terror 

Of  every  common  pain  : 

But  common  grief  is  error, 

True  grief  will  still  remain. 

Gentle  springs  !  freshly  your  salt  tears 
Must  still  fall,  dropping  from  their  spheres. 


Hat  if  I  never  speed! 

Shall  I  straight  yield  to  despair  ? 
And  still,  on  sorrow  feed, 

That  can  no  loss  repair  ? 
Or  shall  I  change  my  love; 

For  I  find  power  to  depart ; 
And,  in  my  reason,  prove 
I  can  command  my  heart. 
But  if  she  will  pity  my  Desire,  and  my  Love  requite  ; 
Then  ever  shall  she  live  my  dear  delight ! 
Come  !  come !  come  !  while  I  have  a  heart  to  desire  thee  ! 
Come!  come!  come!  for  either  I  will  love,  or  admire  thee  ! 


Oft  have  I  dreamed  of  joy, 
Yet  never  felt  the  sweet ; 
But,  tired  with  annoy, 

My  griefs  each  other  greet ; 
Oft  have  I  left  my  hope, 

As  a  wretch  by  fate  forlorn  ; 
But  Love  aims  at  one  scope, 
And  lost  will  still  return. 
He  that  once  loves  with  a  true  desire,  never  can  depart, 
For  Cupid  is  the  King  of  every  heart. 
Come  !  come  !  come  !  while  I  have  a  heart  to  desire  thee  ! 
Come!  come!  come  !  for  either  I  will  love,  or  admire  thee  ! 


124  John  Dowland's  Third  Book 

Ove  stood  amazed,  at  sweet  Beauty's  pain  ; 
Love  would  have  said,  that  "  all  was  but  vain, 
and  gods  but  half  divine  !  " 
But  when  Love  saw  that  Beauty  would  die, 
He,  all  aghast,  to  heavens  did  cry, 

"  O  gods,  what  wrong  is  mine !  " 

Then  his  tears,  bred  in  thoughts  of  salt  brine, 
Fell  from  his  eyes,  like  rain  in  sunshine, 

expelled  by  rage  of  fire. 
Yet,  in  such  wise  as  anguish  affords, 
He  did  express  in  these  his  last  words, 
His  infinite  desire. 

"  Are  you  fled,  Fair !  where  are  now  those  eyes  ? 
Eyes  but  too  fair,  envied  by  the  skies  ? 

You  angry  gods  do  know  ! 
With  guiltless  blood,  your  sceptres  you  stain  ! 
On  poor  true  hearts,  like  tyrants  you  reign  ! 
Unjust !  why  do  you  so  ?  " 

11  Are  you  false  gods  !  why  then  do  you  reign  ? 
Are  you  just  gods  !  why  then  have  you  slain 
the  life  of  love  on  earth  ? 
Beauty !  now,  thy  face  lives  in  the  skies  ! 
Beauty !  now,  let  me  live  in  thine  eyes, 

where  bliss  felt  never  death  !  " 

Then  from  high  rock,  the  rock  of  despair, 
He  falls  !  in  hope  to  smother  in  the  air, 

Or  else  on  stones  to  burst : 
Or  on  cold  waves,  to  spend  his  last  breath; 
Or  his  strange  life,  to  end  by  strange  death. 
But  Fate  forbad  the  worst ! 

With  pity  moved  ;  the  gods  then  changed  Love 
To  Phcenix's  shape,  yet  cannot  remove 

his  wonted  property. 


of  Songs  or  Airs. 


125 


He  loves  the  sun,  because  it  is  fair ! 
Sleep  he  neglects,  he  lives  but  by  air! 
and  would,  but  cannot  die  1 

End  your  ears  to  my  sorrow, 
Good  people,  that  have  any  pity  ; 

For  no  eyes  will  I  borrow, 
Mine  own  shall  grace  my  doleful  ditty! 
Chant  then,  my  voice,  though  rude  like,  to  my  rhyming, 
And  tell  forth  my  grief,  which  here, 

In  sad  despair,  can  find  no  ease  of  tormenting ! 

Once,  I  lived  !     Once,  I  knew  delight ! 
No  grief  did  shadow,  then,  my  pleasure  ; 

Graced  with  love,  cheered  with  beauty's  sight ; 
I  joyed  alone  true  heavenly  treasure ! 

0  what  a  heaven  is  love  firmly  embraced  ! 
Such  power  alone  can  fix  delight, 

In  Fortune's  bosom  ever  placed. 

Cold  as  ice  frozen,  is  that  heart 
Where  thought  of  love  could  no  time  enter  ; 

Such,  of  life  reap  the  poorest  part, 
Whose  weight  cleaves  to  this  earthly  centre : 

Mutual  joys  in  hearts,  truly  united, 
Do  earth  to  heavenly  state  convert ; 

Like  heaven  still,  in  itself  delighted ! 


Y  a  fountain  where  I  lay, 
(All  blessed  be  that  blessed  day !) 
By  the  glim'ring  of  the  sun, 
(O  never  be  her  shining  done !) 
When  I  might  see  alone 
My  true  love  fairest  one! 
Love's  dear  light ! 
Love's  clear  sight ! 


126  John  Dowland's  Third  Book 

No  world's  eyes  can  clearer  see, 
A  fairer  sight,  none  can  be  ! 

Fair  with  garlands  all  addrest, 
{Was  never  Nymph  more  fairly  blest !) 
Blessed  in  the  highest  degree  ; 
(So  may  She  ever  blessed  be  !) 
Came  to  this  fountain  near, 
With  such  a  smiling  cheer, 
Such  a  face, 
Such  a  grace ! 
Happy  !  happy  eyes  !  that  see 
Such  a  heavenly  sight  as  She ! 

Then  I  forthwith  took  my  pipe, 
Which  I,  all  fair  and  clean  did  wipe, 
And  upon  a  heavenly  ground, 
All  in  the  grace  of  beauty  found, 
Played  this  Roundelay, 
"  Welcome,  fair  Queen  of  May  1 
Sing,  sweet  air, 
Welcome  Fair! 
Welcome  be  the  Shepherds'  Queen  ! 
The  glory  of  all  our  green  !  " 

What  hath  overwrought 
My  all  amazed  thought  ? 
Or  whereto  am  I  brought? 
That  thus  in  vain  have  sought, 
Till  time  and  truth  have  taught 
I  labour  all  for  nought. 

The  day,  I  see  is  clear ; 
But  I  am  ne'er  the  near, 
For  grief  doth  still  appear, 
To  cross  our  merry  cheer : 
While  I  can  nothing  here, 
But  Winter  all  the  year. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  127 

Cold,  hold  !  the  sun  will  shine  warm  ! 
Therefore  now  fear  no  harm  ! 
O  blessed  beams  !  where  beauty  streams ; 
Happy,  happy  light,  to  love's  dreams ! 

Arewell,   Unkind !    Farewell !    to  me,  no   more  a 
Since  my  heart  holds  my  Love  most  dear ;     [father ! 
The  wealth,  which  thou  dost  reap !  another's  hand 
must  gather. 
Though  thy  heart  still  lies  buried  there ! 
Then  farewell  !  O  farewell !   Welcome,  my  Love !  welcome, 
my  Joy  for  ever  ! 

'Tis  not  the  vain  desire  of  human  fleeting  beauty 

Makes  my  mind  to  live,  though  my  means  do  die. 

Nor  do  I  Nature  wrong,  though  I  forget  my  duty; 

Love,  not  in  the  blood,  but  inthespirit  dothlie!  [my  Joy  for  ever! 

Then  farewell !    O  farewell !  Welcome,  my  Love  !   welcome, 


Eep  you  no  more,  sad  fountains, 

What  need  you  flow  so  fast  ? 
Look  how  the  snowy  mountains, 

Heaven's  sun  doth  gently  waste. 
But  my  sun's  heavenly  eyes 

View  not  your  weeping, 

That  now  lie  sleeping 
Softly  !  now  softly  lies  sleeping  ! 

Sleep  is  a  reconciling, 

A  rest  that  peace  begets ; 

Doth  not  the  sun  rise  smiling, 
When  fair  at  e'en  he  sets? 

Rest  you  !  then,  rest,  sad  eyes  I 
Melt  not  in  weeping, 
While  she  lies  sleeping 

Softly!  now  softly  lies  sleeping! 


128  John  Dowland's  Third  Book 

Ie  on  this  feigning  ! 

Is  Love  without  Desire? 

Heat  still  remaining, 

And  yet  no  spark  of  fire  ? 
Thou  art  untrue,  nor  wert  with  Fancy  moved, 
For  Desire  hath  power  on  all  that  ever  loved  ! 

Show  some  relenting, 

Or  grant  thou  dost  not  love ; 

Two  hearts  consenting, 

Shall  they  no  comforts  prove  ? 
Yield  !  or  confess  that  Love  is  without  Pleasure ; 
And  that  women's  bounties  rob  men  of  their  treasure  1 

Truth  is  not  placed 

In  words  and  forced  smiles  ; 

Love  is  not  graced 

With  that  which  still  beguiles. 
Love,  or  dislike  !  Yield  fire,  or  give  no  fuel ! 
So  mayest  thou  prove  kind  ;  or,  at  the  least,  less  cruel ! 


T  was  a  time  when  silly  bees  could  speak. 
And  in  that  time,  I  was  a  silly  bee 
Who  fed  on  time  [thyme]  until  my  heart  'gan  break, 
Yet  never  found  the  time  would  favour  me. 
Of  all  the  swarm,  I  only  did  not  thrive  ! 
Yet  brought  I  wax  and  honey  to  the  hive. 

Then  thus  I  buzzed,  when  time  no  sap  would  give, 
"  Why  should  this  blessed  time  to  me  be  dry  ; 
Since  by  this  time  the  lazy  drone  doth  live, 
The  wasp,  the  worm,  the  gnat,  the  butterfly  ?  " 
Mated  with  grief,  I  kneeled  on  my  knees  ; 
And  thus  complained  unto  the  King  of  Bees. 


of  Songs  or  Airs.  129 

"  My  liege  !  gods  grant  thy  time  may  never  end, 
And  yet  vouchsafe  to  hear  my  plaint  of  time  ; 
Which  fruitless  flies  have  found  to  have  a  friend, 
And  I  cast  down,  when  atomies  do  climb." 
The  King  replied  but  thus,  "  Peace,  peevish  bee  ! 
Th'art  bound  to  serve  the  time!   and  time,  not  thee!" 


He  lowest  trees  have  tops  !  the  ant,  her  gall, 
The  fly,  her  spleen  !  the  little  spark,  his  heat  ; 
And  slender  hairs  cast  shadows,  though  but  small, 
And  bees  have  stings,  although  they  be  not  great  ; 
Seas  have  their  source,  and  so  have  shallow  springs, 
And  Love  is  Love,  in  beggars  and  in  kings. 


Where  waters  smoothest  run,  deep  are  the  fords. 

The  dial  stirs,  yet  none  perceives  it  move. 

The  firmest  faith  is  in  the  fewest  words. 

The  turtles  cannot  sing,  and  yet  they  love. 

True  hearts  have  eyes  and  ears,  no  tongues  to  speak  ; 

They  hear,  and  see,  and  sigh ;  and  then,  they  break  1 


Hat  poor  astronomers  are  they, 
Take  women's  eyes  for  stars  ! 
And  set  their  thoughts  in  battle  'ray, 
To  fight  such  idle  wars; 
When  in  the  end  they  shall  approve, 
'Tis  but  a  jest  drawn  out  of  Love. 


And  Love  itself  is  but  a  jest 
Devised  by  idle  heads, 
To  catch  young  Fancies  in  the  nest, 
And  lay  them  in  fools'  beds  ; 
That  being  hatched  in  beauty's  eyes, 
They  may  be  fledged,  ere  they  be  wise. 
11  I 


130    Dowland's  Third  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs. 

But  yet  it  is  a  sport  to  see, 

How  Wit  will  run  on  wheels ! 

While  Wit  cannot  persuaded  be, 

With  that  which  Reason  feels ; 

"  That  women's  eyes  and  stars  are  odd, 

And  Love  is  but  a  feigned  god !  " 

But  such  as  will  run  mad  with  Will, 

I  cannot  clear  their  sight ! 

But  leave  them  to  their  study  still, 

To  look  where  is  no  light ! 

Till  time  too  late,  we  make  them  try, 

They  study  false  Astronomy  I 


A    Dialogue. 

Ome,  when  I  call,  or  tarry  till  I  come  ! 
If  you  be  deaf,  I  must  prove  dumb ! 
If  thy  Desire  ever  knew  the  grief  of  delay, 
No  danger  could  stand  in  thy  way ! 
What  need  we  languish  ?    Can  Love  quickly  fly  ? 
Fear  ever  hurts  more  than  Jealousy ! 

Then  securely,  Envy  scorning, 

Let  us  end  with  joy,  our  mourning  I 

Jealousy  still  defy  ! 

And  love  till  we  die  !  " 

"  Stay  awhile  !  my  heavenly  Joy  ! 
I  come  with  wings  of  love, 
When  envious  eyes,  time  shall  remove. 
O  die  not,  add  this  sorrow  to  my  grief, 
That  languish  here,  wanting  relief. 

Then  securely,  Envy  scorning, 

Let  us  end  with  joy,  our  mourning! 

Jealousy  still  defy ! 

And  love  till  we  die  !  " 


John  Dowland,  Bachelor  of  Music,  &c5 
Lutenist  to  the  Lord  Walden. 

Jl  Tilgrim's  Solace. 
1612. 


132 


John  Dowland,  Bachelor  of  Music,  &c, 
Lutenist  to  the  Lord  Walden. 

Pi    Pijlqrim'^    Solace 
1612. 


To     the      Right     Honourable 
THEOPHILUS,  Lord    WALDEN, 

SON  AND  HEIR  TO  THE  MOST  NOBLE 

THOMAS,  Baron   of  WALDEN,   Earl  of 

SUFFOLK,  Lord  Chamberlain  of  His  Majesty's 

Household,  Knight  of  the  most  noble  Order  of 

the  Garter,  and  one  of  His  Majesty's  most 

honourable  Privy  Council. 

Most    honoured    Lord, 

S  TO  excel  in  any  quality  is  very  rare,  so  is  it 
a  hard  thing  to  find  out  those  that  favour 
Virtue  and  Learning  :  but  such  being  found, 
men  of  judgement  are  drawn  (I  know  not  by 
what  sympathy)  to  love  and  honour  them,  as 
the  Saints  and  Sovereigns  of  their  affections 
-   and  devices.     Wherefore,  most  worthy  Lord  ! 


your  Honour,  being  of  all  men  noted  (as  natural  born  heir  of 
your  most  renowned  father  and  mother)  to  be  the  only  and  alone 


To   the    Reader.  133 

Supporter  of  goodness  and  excellency :  known  to  none  better 
(unless  I  should  be  the  most  ungrateful  of  all  others!)  than  myself  ; 
who  am  held  up  only  by  your  gracious  hand.  For  which,  I  can 
shew  no  other  means  of  thankfulness  than  these  simple  fruits  of  my 
poor  endeavours,  which  I  most  humbly  present  as  a  public  pledge 
from  a  true  and  devoted  heart ;  hoping  hereafter  to  perform  some- 
thing, wherein  I  shall  shew  myself  more  worthy  of  your  honourable 
service. 

In  the  meantime,  you  shall  have  a  poor  man's  prayers  for  your 
Lordship's  continual  health,  and  daily  increase  of  honour. 
Your  Honour's  humble  servant, 

JOHN   DOWLAND. 

To    the    Reader. 

Worthy  Gentlemen,  and  my  loving  Countrymen, 

Oved  by  your  many  and  foretasted  courtesies,  I 
am  constrained  to  appear  again  unto  you.  True 
it  is,  I  have  lien  long  obscured  from  your  sight, 
because  I  received  a  Kingly  entertainment  in  a 
foreign  climate,  which  could  not  attain  to  any  (though 
never  so  mean)  place  at  home.  Yet  have  I  held  up 
my  head  within  this  horizon,  and  not  altogether  been 
affected  elsewhere ;  since  some  part  of  my  poor  labours 
have  found  favour  in  the  greatest  part  of  Europe,  and  been 
printed  in  eight  most  famous  cities  beyond  the  seas,  viz. : 
Paris,  Antwerp,  Cologne,  Nuremburg,  Frankfort,  Leipsic, 
Amsterdam,  and  Hamburg ;  yea,  and  some  of  them  also 
authorised  under  the  Emperor's  royal  privilege. 

Yet  I  must  tell  you,  as  I  have  been  a  stranger,  so  have 
I  again  found  strange  entertainment  since  my  return  :  espe- 
cially, by  the  opposition  of  two  sorts  of  people  that  shroud 
themselves  under  the  titles  of  Musicians. 

The  first  are  some  simple  Cantors  or  vocal  singers ;  who, 


134  To  the  Reader. 

though  they  seem  excellent  in  their  blind  Division-making, 
are  merely  ignorant,  even  in  the  first  elements  of  Music ; 
and  also  in  the  true  order  of  the  mutation  of  the  Hexachord 
in  the  System,  which  hath  been  approved  by  all  the  learned 
and  skilful  men  of  Christendom,  these  800  years.  Yet  do 
these  fellows  give  their  verdict  of  me  behind  my  back ;  and 
say,  what  I  do  "  is  after  the  old  manner."  But  I  will  speak 
openly  to  them,  and  would  have  them  know,  that  the 
proudest  Cantor  of  them  dares  not  oppose  himself  face  to 
face  against  me. 

The  second  are  young  men,  professors  of  the  Lute,  who 
vaunt  themselves  to  the  disparagement  of  such  as  have  been 
before  their  time  (wherein  I  myself  am  a  party),  that  there 
never  was  the  like  of  them.  To  these  men  I  say  little,  because 
of  my  love  and  hope  to  see  some  deeds  ensue  their  brave 
words.  And  also  being  that,  here,  under  their  own  noses, 
hath  been  published  a  book  in  defence  of  the  Viol  de 
Gamba ;  wherein  not  only  all  other  the  best  and  principal 
instruments  have  been  abased,  but  especially  the  Lute  by 
name.  The  words,  to  satisfy  thee,  Reader !  I  have  here 
thought  good  to  insert ;  and  areas  followeth  :  "  From  hence- 
forth, the  stately  instrument  Gambo  Viol  shall  with  ease 
yield  full,  various,  and  deviceful  music  as  the  Lute :  for  here 
I  protest  the  trinity  of  music — Parts,  Passion,  and  Division — 
to  be  as  gracefully  united  in  the  Gambo  Viol,  as  in  the 
most  received  instrument  that  is,"  &c.  Which  imputation, 
methinks,  the  learneder  sort  of  musicians  ought  not  to  let 
pass  unanswered. 

Moreover  there  are  here,  and  daily  doth  come  into  our  most 
famous  kingdom,  divers  strangers  from  beyond  the  seas, 
which  aver  before  our  own  faces,  that  we  have  no  true 
method  of  application  or  fingering  of  the  Lute. 

Now  if  these  gallant  young  Lutenists  be  such  as  they 
would  have  the  world  believe  (and  of  which  I  make  no  doubt) 
let  them  remember  that  their  skill  lieth  not  in  their  fingers' 
ends.     Cucullus  non  facit  monachum  [A  hood  does  not  make  a 


To  the  Reader.  135 

monk].  I  wish  for  the  honour,  therefore,  and  general  benefit 
of  our  country,  that  they  would  undertake  the  defence  of 
their  Lute  profession  ;  seeing  that  some  of  them,  above 
other,  have  most  large  means,  convenient  time,  and  such 
encouragement  as  I  never  knew  any  have. 

Believe  me,  if  any  of  these  objections  had  been  made  when 
those  famous  men  lived,  which  are  now  thought  worthy  of 
no  fame ;  not  derogating  from  these  skilful  men  present,  I 
dare  affirm  that  these  objections  had  been  answered  to  the 
full :  and  I  make  no  doubt  but  that  those  few  of  the  former 
time  which  live  yet  (being  some  of  them  Bachelors  of  Music ; 
and  others,  which  assume  unto  themselves  to  be  no  less 
worthy)  will  be  as  forward  to  preserve  their  reputation. 

Perhaps  you  will  ask  me,  why  I,  that  have  travelled  many 
countries  and  ought  to  have  some  experience,  do  not  undergo 
this  business  myself  ?  I  answer,  that  I  want  ability,  being 
now  entered  into  the  fiftieth  year  of  mine  age ;  secondly,  I 
want  both  means,  leisure,  and  encouragement. 

But,  gentle  Reader !  to  conclude,  though  abruptly.  This 
work  of  mine,  which  I  have  here  published,  containeth  such 
things  as  I  myself  have  thought  well  of,  as  being,  in  mine 
opinion,  furnished  with  variety  of  matter,  both  of  judgement 
and  delight :  which  willingly  I  refer  to  the  friendly  censure 
and  approbation  of  the  skilful ;  hoping  it  will  be  no  less 
delightful  to  all  in  general,  than  it  was  pleasing  to  me  in 


the  composition.     Farewell. 


Your  friend, 

John  Dowland. 


136 


John  Dowland's 


A  Pilgrim's  Solace. 


Isdain  me  still,  that  I  may  ever  love ! 

For  who  his  Love  enjoys,  can   iove  no 
more.  [prove. 

The  war  once  past,  with  ease  men  cowards 
And   ships   returned,    do  rot   upon   the 
shore.  [art  most  fair!  " 

And  though   thou  frown,  I'll  say  "  Thou 
And  still  I'll  love  !  though  still  I  must  despair. 

As  Heat  to  Life,  so  is  Desire  to  Love : 

And  these  once  quenched,  both  life  and  love  are  gone; 
Let  not  my  sighs  nor  tears  thy  virtue  move ! 
Like  baser  metals,  do  not  melt  too  soon  ! 

Laugh  at  my  woes,  although  I  ever  mourn  ! 
Love  surfeits  with  Reward !  his  nurse  is  Scorn  ! 


To  my  worthy  friend  Master  William  Jewel, 
of  Exeter  College  in  Oxford. 

Weet  !  stay  awhile  !  why  will  you  rise  ? 
The  light  you  see,  comes  from  your  eyes ! 
The  day  breaks  not,  it  is  my  heart, 
To  think  that  you  and  I  must  part ! 
O  stay  !  or  else  my  joys  must  die, 
And  perish  in  their  infancy  1 

Dear  !  let  me  die  in  this  fair  breast ! 
Far  sweeter  than  the  Phoenix  nest. 
Love !  raise  Desire  by  his  sweet  charms, 
Within  this  circle  of  thine  arms  ! 


A  Pilgrim's  Solace.  137 

And  let  thy  blissful  kisses  cherish 
Mine  infant  joys!  that  else  must  perish  ! 

0  ask  for  all  thy  love,  and  thy  whole  heart, 

'twere  madness ! 
I  do  not  sue 

Nor  can  admit, 
Fairest !  from  you 
To  have  all ; 
Yet  who  giveth  all,  hath  nothing  to  impart 

but  sadness. 

He  that  receiveth  all,  can  have  no  more 

than  seeing. 
My  love,  by  length 

Of  every  hour, 
Gathers  new  strength, 

New  growth,    new  flower; 
You  must  have  daily  new  rewards  in  store, 

still  being. 

You  cannot,  every  day,  give  me  your  heart 

for  merit ! 
Yet,  if  you  will, 

When  yours  doth  go, 
You  shall  have  still 
One  to  bestow  ! 
For  you  shall  mine,  when  yours  doth  part, 

inherit. 

Yet,  if  you  please,  I'll  find  a  better  way, 

than  change  them. 
For  so,  alone, 

Dearest,  we  shall 
Be  one ;    and  one 
Another's  all ! 
Let  us  so  join  our  hearts,  that  nothing  may 

estrange  them ! 


138  John  Dowland's 


Ove  !  those  beams  that  breed,  all  day  long  breed  and 
feed  this  burning, 
Love  !  I  quench  with  floods,  floods  of  tears,  nightly 
tears  and  morning. 
But,  alas,  tears  cool  this  fire  in  vain, 
The  more  I  quench,  the  more  there  doth  remain ! 

I'll  go  to  the  woods,  and  alone  make  my  moan,  O  cruel ! 
For  I  am  deceived  and  bereaved  of  my  life  !   my  jewel ! 
O  but  in  the  woods,  though  Love  be  blind, 
He  hath  his  spies,  my  secret  haunts  to  find. 

Love,  then  I  must  yield  to  thy  might !  might  and  spite  op- 
pressed, 
Since  I  see  my  wrongs  (woe  is  me  !)  cannot  be  redressed. 
Come  at  last  !     Be  friendly,  Love,  to  me, 
And  let  me  not  endure  this  misery ! 


Hall  I  strive  with  words  to  move !  when  deeds  receive 
not  due  regard  ? 
Shall  I  speak!  andneither  please,  nor  be  freely  heard? 
All  woes  have  end ;   though  awhile   delayed,    our 
patience  proving. 
O  that  Time's  strange  effects  could  make  her  loving; 
I  wooed  her,  I  loved  her,  and  none  but  her  admire. 

0  come,  dear  Joy,  and  answer  my  Desire. 

Grief,  alas,  though  all  in  vain,   her   restless  anguish  must 

reveal, 
She  alone  my  wound  shall  know,  though  she  will  not  heal ; 
Storms  calm  at  last !  and  why  may  not  she  leave  off  frowning? 
O  sweet  Love  !  help  her  hands,  my  affection  crowning; 

1  wooed  her,  I  loved  her,  and  none  but  her  admire, 
O  come,  dear  Joy,  and  answer  my  Desire. 


A  Pilgrim's  Solace. 


139 


Ere  every  thought  an  eye,  and  all  those  eyes  could 
see  ; 
Her  subtle  wiles,  their  sights   would  beguile    and 
mock  their  jealousy ; 
Desire  lives  in  her  heart,  Diana  in  her  eyes, 
'Twere  vain,  to  wish  women  true  !  'tis  well,  if  they  prove  wise  ! 
Such  a  love  deserves  more  grace, 
Than  a  truer  heart  that  hath  no  conceit 
To  make  use  both  of  time  and  place, 
When  a  wit  had  need  of  all  his  slight. 

Her  fires  do  inward  burn,  but  make  no  outward  show, 

And  her  delights,  amid  the  dark  shades,  which  none  discover, 

grow, 
The  flower's  growth  is  unseen,  yet  every  day  it  grows, 
So  where  her  Fancy  is  set,  it  grows !  but  how,  none  knows. 

Such  a  love  deserves  more  grace, 

Than  a  truer  heart,  that  hath  not  conceit 

To  make  use  both  of  time  and  place, 

When  a  wit  had  need  of  all  his  slight. 


Tay  Time,  awhile,  thy  flying, 
Stay,  and  pity  me  dying  ! 
For  Fates  and  friends  have  left  me. 
And  of  comfort  bereft  me. 
Come !  come,  close  mine  eyes  !     Better  to  die  blessed, 
Than  to  live  thus  distressed! 


To  whom  shall  I  complain  me, 
When  thus  friends  do  disdain  me  ? 
'Tis  Time  that  must  befriend  me, 
Drowned  in  sorrow  to  end  me. 
Come  !  come,  close  mine  eyes  !     Better  to  die  blessed, 
Than  to  live  thus  distressed! 


140  John  Dowland's 

Tears  but  augment  this  fuel. 
I  feed  by  night  ( O  cruel  ! ). 
Light  griefs  can  speak  their  pleasure. 
Mine  are  dumb,  passing  measure  ; 
Quick  !  quick,  close  mine  eyes  !     Better  to  die  blessed, 
Than  here  to  live  distressed ! 


Ell  me,  True  Love  !  where  shall  I  seek  thy  being? 
In  thoughts  or  words,  in  vows  or  promise  making  ? 
In  reasons,  looks,  or  Passions  never  seeing  ? 
In  men  on  earth,  or  women's  minds  partaking  ? 
Thou  canst  not  die !  and  therefore,  living,  tell  me, 
Where  is  thy  seat  ?     Why  doth  this  Age  expel  thee  ? 

When  thoughts  are  still  unseen,  and  words  disguised ; 

Vows  are  not  sacred  held,  nor  promise  debt ; 
By  Passion,  Reason's  glory  is  surprised ; 
In  neither  sex  is  true  love  firmly  set. 

Thoughts   feigned,   words    false,   vows   and   promise 

broken, 
Made  True  Love  fly  from  earth  !  This  is  the  token. 

Mount,  then,  my  thoughts  !     Here  is  for  thee  no  dwelling, 

Since  Truth  and  Falsehood  live,  like  twins,  together. 
Believe  not  Sense  !  eyes  !  ears  !  touch  !  taste  !  or  smelling  ! 
Both  Art  and  Nature's  forced  !  put  trust  in  neither  ! 
One  only  She,  doth  True  Love,  captive  bind, 
In  fairest  breast,  but  in  a  fairer  mind. 

O  fairest  mind,  enriched  with  Love's  residing, 

Retain  the  best !     In  hearts,  let  some  seed  fall ! 
Instead  of  weeds,  Love's  fruits  may  have  abiding, 
At  harvest,  you  shall  reap  increase  of  all  ! 

O  happy  Love  !     More  happy  man,  that  finds  thee, 
Most  happy  Saint!  that  keeps,  restores,  unbinds  thee  ! 


A  Pilgrim's  Solace.  141 

O,  nightly  cares !  the  enemy  to  rest, 

Forbear,  awhile,  to  vex  my  wearied  sprite ; 

So  long  your  weight  hath  lain  upon  my  breast ; 
That  lo !  I  live,  of  life  bereaved  quite. 

O  give  me  time  to  draw  my  wearied  breath, 

Or  let  me  die,  as  I  desire  the  death  ! 

Welcome,  sweet  Death  !  O  life  !  no  life,  a  hell ! 

Then  thus,  and  thus,  I  bid  the  world,  farewell. 

False  World  !  farewell  !  the  enemy  to  rest, 

Now  do  thy  worst !  I  do  not  weigh  thy  spite. 
Free  from  thy  cares  I  live  for  ever  blest, 

Enjoying  peace  and  heavenly  true  delight. 
Delight,  whom  woes  nor  sorrows  shall  amate, 
Nor  fears  or  tears  disturb  her  happy  state, 
And  thus  I  leave  thy  hopes,  thy  joys  untrue, 
And  thus,  and  thus,  vain  World  !  again,  adieu  ! 


To  my  loving  countryman,  Master  John  F  o  r  s  T  E  R, 

the  younger,  Merchant  of  Dublin  in  Ireland. 

Rom  silent  night,  true  register  of  moans ; 

From  saddest  soul,  consumed  with  deepest  sins; 
From  heart,  quite  rent  with  sighs  and  heavy  groans ; 

My  wailing  Muse  her  woful  work  begins, 
And  to  the  world,  brings  tunes  of  sad  Despair, 
Sounding  nought  else  but  Sorrow,  Grief,  and  Care 

Sorrow,  to  see  my  sorrow's  cause  augmented, 
And  yet  less  sorrowful  were  my  sorrows  more ; 

Grief,  that  my  grief  with  grief  is  not  prevented, 
For  grief  it  must  ease  my  grieved  sore. 

Thus  Grief  and  Sorrow  care  but  how  to  grieve, 

For  Grief  and  Sorrow  must  my  Care  relieve. 


142 


John  Dowland's 


If  any  eye  therefore  can  spare  a  tear, 
To  fill  the  well-spring  that  must  wet  my  cheeks, 

O  let  that  eye,  to  this  sad  feast  draw  near  ! 
Refuse  me  not,  my  humble  soul  beseeks ! 

For  all  the  tears  mine  eyes  have  ever  wept, 

Were  now  too  little,  had  they  all  been  kept. 

Y  Heart  and  Tongue  were  Twins,  at  once  conceived. 
Th'  eldest  was  my  Heart,  born  dumb  by  destiny, 
The  last,  my  Tongue,  of  all  sweet  thoughts  bereaved : 
Yet  strung  and  tuned  to  play  Heart's  harmony. 

Both  knit  in  one,  and  yet  asunder  placed  : 

What  Heart  would  speak,  the  Tongue  doth  still  discover  ; 
What  Tongue  doth  speak,  is  of  the  Heart  embraced, 

And  both  are  one  to  make  a  new  found  lover. 

New  found,  and  only  found  in  gods  and  kings, 

Whose  words  are  deeds,  but  words  nor  deeds  regarded. 

Chaste  thoughts  do  mount  and  fly  with  swiftest  wings! 
My  love  with  pain,  my  pain  with  loss  rewarded. 

Then  this  be  sure  !   since  it  is  true  perfection, 
That  neither  men  nor  gods  can  force  Affection ! 


A  Dialogue. 

Y  merry  mates!  to  Neptune's  praise, 
Your  voices  high  advance  ! 
'Sglj  The  wat'ry  nymphs  shall  dance, 

And  iEoLUS  shall  whistle  to  your  lays. 
[Master.]      Steersman,  how  stands  the  wind  ? 
Steersman.   Full  north-north-east. 
Master.  What  course  ? 

Steersman.    Full  south-south-west. 
Master.  No  worse,  and  blow  so  fair, 


A  Pilgrim's  Solace. 


H3 


Then  sink  despair, 

Come  solace  to  the  mind, 

Ere  night,  we  shall  the  haven  find. 
O  happy  days,  who  may  contain 
But  swell  with  proud  disdain 

When  seas  are  smooth, 

Sails  full,  and  all  things  please  ? 
The  Golden  Mean  that  constant  spirit  bears ! 
In  such  extremes,  that  nor  presumes  nor  fears. 


Stay,  merry  mates,  proud  Neptune  lowers! 
Your  voices  all  deplore  you, 
The  nymphs  standing  weeping  o'er  you. 
And  ^Eolus  and  Iris  bandy  showers. 
Master.  Boatsman,  haul  in  the  boat. 

Steersman.  Hark  !  hark  the  ratlings. 

Master.  'Tis  hail ! 

Steersman.  Make  fast  the  tacklings  1 

Master.  Strike  sail ! 

Make  quick  despatches, 
Shut  close  the  hatches ! 
Hold  stern  !  cast  anchor  out ! 
This  night  we  shall  at  random  float. 
O  dismal  hours  ! 
Who  can  forbear, 

But  sink  with  sad  despair;  [lowers. 

When  seas  are  rough,  sails  rent,  and  each  thing 


Elcome,  black  Night,  Hymen's  fair  day, 
Help,  Hymen  !  Love's  due  debt  to  pay, 
Love's  due  debt  is  chaste  Delight ; 
Which  if  the  Turtles  want  to  night, 


144      John  Dowland's  A  Pilgrim's  Solace 

Hymen  forfeits  his  deity,  and  night  in  love  her  dignity. 
Hymen  !  O  Hymen  !  mine  of  treasures  more  divine, 
What  deity  is  like  to  thee  !  that  freest  from  mortality  ? 

Stay,  happy  pair  !  stay  but  awhile  ! 
Hymen  comes  not,  Love  to  beguile. 
These  sports  are  alluring  baits 
And  sauce  are,  to  Love's  sweetest  cates : 
Longing  hope  doth  no  hurt  but  this, 
It  heighten's  Love's  attained  bliss  ! 

Then  stay,  most  happy  !  stay  awhile  ! 

Hymen  comes  not,  Love  to  beguile. 


Cease,  cease,  cease  these  false  sports !  [stay, 

Haste,  haste  away !  Love's  made  truant,  by  your 

Good  night !  good  night,  yet  virgin  Bride  1 

But  look  (ere  day  be  spied) 

You  change  that  fruitless  name, 

Lest  you  your  sex  defame. 

Fear  not  Hymen's  peaceful  war, 

You'll  conquer,  though  you  subdued  are  ; 

Good  night !  and,  ere  the  day  be  old, 

Rise  to  the  sun,  a  marigold  : 

Hymen  !  O  Hymen  !  bless  this  night, 
That  Love's  dark  works  may  come  to  light ! 


H5 


John    Wilbye: 

F  i  r  2  t    Set    of    JVIadriqal^. 
April,  1598. 

To  the  Right  Worshipful  and  valorous 
Knight   Sir  Charles    Cavendish. 

Right  Worshipfuland  renowned  Knight. 

T  HATH  happened  of  late,  I  know  not  how,  whether  by 
my  folly  or  fortune,  to  commit  some  of  my  Labours 
to  the  press.  Which,  the  weaker  the  Work  is,  have 
more  need  of  an  honourable  Patron.  Everything 
persuades  me,  though  they  seem  not  absolute,  that  your  Countenance 
is  a  sufficient  warrant  for  them,  against  sharp  tongues  and  un- 
friendly censures.  Knowing  your  rare  virtues  and  honourable 
accomplishments  to  be  such  as  may  justly  challenge  their  better 
regard  and  opinion,  whom  it  shall  please  you  to  patronize. 

If,  perchance,  they  shall  prove  worthy  your  patronage,  my 
affection,  duty,  and  good  will  bind  me  rather  to  dedicate  them  to 
you,  than  to  any  other  :  both  for  the  reverence  and  honour  I  owe 
to  all  other  your  most  singular  virtues  ;  and  especially  also  for 
your  excellent  skill  in  music,  and  your  great  love  and  favour  of 
Music. 

There  remaineth  only  your  favourable  acceptance,  which  humbly 
craving  at  your  hands,  with  protestation  of  all  duty  and  service, 
I  humbly  take  my  leave. 

From  the  Augustine  Friars,  the  xii.  of  April,  1598. 
Your  Worship's 

Ever  most  bounden  and  dutiful,  in  all  humility, 

John   Wilbye. 

II  K 


146 


John  Wilbye's 


F  i  r  2  t     Set    of    JVIadriqals. 
By    John    Wilbye. 


Ly  Love   aloft   to   heaven,   and   look   out 
Fortune ! 
Then  sweetly  her  importune, 
That  I  from  my  Calisto  best  beloved 
As  you  or  she  set  down  be  never  moved  ! 
And  Love,  to  Carimel,  see  you  commend 
me! 
Fortune  for  his  sweet  sake  may  chance  befriend  me 


Way,  thou  shalt  not  love  me! 
So  shall  my  love  seem  greater, 
And  I  shall  love  thee  better. 
Shall  it  be  so  ?  what  say  you  ? 
Why  speak  you  not  ?  I  pray  you  ! 
Nay  then  I  know  you  love  me, 
That  so  you  may  disprove  me. 


Y  me,  can  every  rumour 
Thus  start  my  Lady's  humour? 
Name  ye  some  Gallant  to  her, 
Why,  straight,  forsooth,  I  woo  her. 
Then  bursts  She  forth  in  passion, 
"  You  men,  love  but  for  fashion !  " 
Yet  sure  I  am,  that  no  man 
Ever  so  loved  woman. 
Yet,  alas,  Love  be  wary  ! 
For  women  be  contrary. 


First  Set  of  Madrigals.  147 

Eep,  O  mine  eyes,  and  cease  not, 
Your  spring  tides,  out  alas,  methinks,  increase  not. 
O  when,  O  when  begin  you 
To  swell  so  high,  that  I  may  drown  me  in  you  ! 


Ear  Pity,  how  !  ah,  how  wouldst  thou  become  her, 
That  best  becometh  Beauty's  best  attiring. 
Shall  my  desert  deserve  no  favour  from  her, 

But  still  to  waste  myself  in  deep  admiring  ? 
Like  him  that  calls  to  Echo  to  relieve  him, 
Still  tells  and  hears  the  tale  that  grieves  him. 

E  restless  thoughts,  that  harbour  discontent, 
Cease  your  assaults  !  and  let  my  heart  lament, 
And  let  my  tongue  have  leave  to  tell  my  grief, 
That  She  may  pity,  though  not  grant  relief. 
Pity  would  help  what  Love  hath  almost  slain, 
And  salve  the  wound  that  festered  this  disdain 

Hat  needeth  all  this  travail  and  turmoiling, 
Shortening  the  life's  sweet  pleasure, 
To  seek  this  far-fetched  treasure, 
In  those  hot  climates,  under  Phoebus  broiling  ? 

O  fools  !  can  you  not  see  a  traffic  nearer, 

In  my  sweet  Lady's  face  ? 

Where  Nature  sheweth. 

Whatever  treasure  eye  sees,  or  heart  knoweth  : 

Rubies  and  diamonds  dainty, 

And  Orient  pearls,  in  such  plenty, 

Coral  and  ambergris  sweeter  and  dearer 
Than  which  the  South  Seas  or  Moluccas  lend  us, 
Or  either  Indies,  East  or  West,  do  send  us. 


148 


John  Wilbye's 


Las,  what  hope  of  speeding, 
Where  Hope,  beguiled,  lies  bleeding? 
She  bade  me  come,  when  She  spied  me ; 
And  when  I  came,  She  flied  me  ! 
Thus  when  I  was  beguiled 
She,  at  my  sighing,  smiled. 
But  if  you  take  such  pleasure, 
(Of  joy  and  hope,  my  treasure!) 
By  deceit  to  bereave  me  ; 
Love  me  !  and  so  deceive  me  ! 


Ady,  when  I  behold  the  roses  sprouting, 
Which  clad  in  damask  mantles,  deck  the  arbours ; 
My  eyes  present  me  with  a  double  doubting : 
For  viewing  both  alike ;  hardly,  my  mind  supposes, 
Whether  the  roses  be  your  lips,  or  your  lips  the  roses  ? 


Hus  saith  my  Cloris  bright 
When  we,  of  Love  sit  down  and  talk  together. 
"  Beware  of  Love,  Dear  !  Love  is  a  walking  sprite 

And  Love  is  this  and  that. 

And  O,  I  know  not  what ! 
And  comes  and  goes  again,  I  wot  not  whither  !  " 
No,  no,  these  are  but  bugs  to  breed  amazing : 
For  in  her  eyes,  I  saw  his  torchlight  blazing ! 


Dmu,  sweet  Amarillis, 

For  since  to  part  your  will  is, 
O  heavy  tiding ! 

Here  is  for  me,  no  biding ! 
Yet,  once  again,  ere  that  I  part  with  you, 
Amarillis,  sweet  Amarillis,  adieu  ! 


First  Set  of  Madrigals. 


149 


Ie,  helpless  man,  since  She  denies  thee  grace! 

Die  and  despair,  sith  She  doth  scorn  to  love  thee  ! 
Farewell,  most  Fair  !  though  thou  dost  Fair  deface  ! 
Sith  for  my  duteous  love,  thou  dost  reprove  me  ! 
Those  smiling  eyes,  that  sometimes  me  revived, 
Clouded  with  frowns,  have  me  of  life  deprived. 


Fall,  O  stay  me  ! 

Dear  Love,  with  joys  ye  slay  me ! 

Of  life,  your  lips  deprive  me, 

Sweet,  let  your  lips  revive  me  ! 
O  whither  are  you  hasting  ?  and  leave  my  life  thus  wasting, 
My  health  on  you  relying,  'twere  sin  to  leave  me  dying ! 

And  though  my  love  abounding 
Did  make  me  fall  a  swooning, 
Yet  am  I  well  contented 
Still  so  to  be  tormented. 
And  Death  can  never  fear  me, 
As  long  as  you  are  near  me. 


Always  beg,  yet  never  am  relieved ; 

I  grieve,  because  my  griefs  are  not  believed  ; 

I  cry  aloud  in  vain,  my  voice  outstretched, 

And  get  but  this  :  mine  echo  calls  me  "  Wretched  !  " 

Thus  Love  commands,  that  I  in  vain  complain  me ; 
And  Sorrow  wills,  that  She  shall  still  disdain  me. 
Yet  did  I  hope,  which  hope,  my  life  prolonged ; 
To  hear  her  say,  "  Alas,  his  love  was  wronged  !  " 


! 


Ady,  your  words  do  spite  me ! 
Yet  your  sweet  lips,  so  soft,  kiss  and  delight  me ! 
Your  deeds,  my  heart  surcharge  with  overjoying ; 
Your  taunts  my  life  destroying, 


*5o 


John  Wilbye's 


Since  both  have  force  to  spill  me. 

Let  kisses  sweet,  kill  me  ! 
Knights  fight  with  swords  and  lances 

Fight  you,  with  smiling  glances  ! 
So  like  the  swans  of  Leander, 
My  ghost  from  hence  shall  wander, 
Singing  and  dying. 


Las,  what  a  wretched  life  is  this  ? 
Nay,  what  a  death  ?  where  tyrant  Love  commandeth. 
My  flowering  days  are  in  their  prime  declining, 
All  my  proud  hope  quite  fallen,  and  life  untwining 
My  joys,  each  after  other,  in  haste  are  flying, 
And  leave  me  dying 
For  her  that  scorns  my  crying, 
O  She  from  hence  departs,  my  love  refraining. 
For  whom,  all  heartless,  alas,  I  die  complaining. 


Nkind  !  0  stay  thy  flying  ! 
And  if  I  needs  must  die,  pity  me  dying ! 

But  in  thee,  my  heart  is  lying ; 

And  no  death  can  assail  me, 

Alas,  till  life  doth  fail  me ! 
O  therefore,  if  the  Fates  bid  thee  be  fleeting ; 
Stay  for  me  !  whose  poor  heart  thou  hast  in  keeping. 


Sang  sometimes  my  Thought's  and  Fancy's  pleasure. 

Where  then  I  list,  or  time  served  best,  and  leisure, 

While  Daphne  did  invite  me 

To  supper  once,  and  drank  to  me  to  spite  me. 

I  smiled,  yet  still  did  doubt  her, 

And  drank  where  she  had  drunk  before,  to  flout  her; 

But  O,  while  I  did  eye  her, 

Mine  eyes  drank  Love  !  my  lips  drank  burning  fire ! 


First  Set  of  Madrigals.  15 1 

Lora  gave  me  fairest  flowers, 

None  so  fair  in  Flora's  treasure  : 
These  I  placed  on  Phillis'  bowers. 

She  was  pleased,  and  She  my  pleasure. 
Smiling  meadows  seem  to  say, 

Come,  ye  wantons,  here  to  play  ! 


Weet  Love,  if  thou  wilt  gain  a  Monarch's  glory, 
Subdue  her  heart,  who  makes  me  glad  and  sorry ! 
Out  of  thy  golden  quiver 
Take  thou  thy  strongest  arrow, 
That  will  through  bone  and  marrow 
And  me  and  thee,  of  grief  and  fear  deliver. 
But  come  behind  !  for  if  she  look  upon  thee, 
Alas,  poor  Love  !  then  thou  art  woe  begone  thee 


Hen  shall  my  wretched  life  give  place  to  death  ? 
That  my  sad  cares  may  be  enforced  to  leave  me. 
Come,  saddest  Shadow  !  stop  my  vital  breath  ! 
For  I  am  thine  !  then  let  not  Care  bereave  me 
Of  thy  sad  thrall !  but  with  thy  fatal  dart, 
Kill  Care  and  me,  while  Care  lies  at  my  heart ! 


F  joys  and  pleasing  pains,  I,  late,  went  singing ! 
(O  pains  with  joys  consenting!) 
And  little  thought  as  then,  of  now  repenting. 
But  now  think  of  my  then  sweet-bitter  stinging ; 
All  day  long,  I,  my  hands,  alas,  go  wringing. 
The  baleful  notes  of  which  my  sad  tormenting. 
Are    Ruth    and    Moan,    Frights,    Sobs,    and   loud 

Lamenting 
From  hills  and  dales,  in  my  dull  ears  still  ringing. 


152     John  Wilbye's  First  Set  of  Madrigals. 

My  throat  is  soar,  my  voice  is  hoarse  with  shrieking. 
My  Rests  are  sighs  deep  from  the  heart-root  fetched. 
My  Song  runs  all  on  Sharps,  and  with  oft  striking 
Time  on  my  breast,  I  shrink  with  hands  outstretched 
Thus  still,  and  still  I  sing,  and  ne'er  am  linning  ; 
For  still  the  Close  points  to  my  first  Beginning. 


Ruel,  behold  my  heavy  ending  ! 
See,  what  you  wrought,  by  your  disdaining  ! 
Causeless,  I  die,  Love  still  attending 
Your  hopeless  pity  of  my  complaining  ! 
Suffer  those  eyes,  which  thus  have  slain  me, 
With  speed  to  end  their  killing  power  ! 
So  shall  you  prove  how  love  doth  pain  me, 
And  see  me  die  still  your  ! 


Hou  art  but  young  !  "  thou  sayest, 
"  And  Love's  delight,  thou  weigh'st  not." 
O  take  time,  while  thou  may'st, 
Lest  when  thou  would'st  thou  may'st  not ! 
If  Love  shall  then  assail  thee, 
A  double  double  anguish  will  torment  thee ! 
And  thou  wilt  wish  (but  wishes  all  will  fail  thee  !) : 
"  O  me  !  that  I  were  young  again  !  "  and  so  repent 
thee. 


Hy  dost  thou  shoot,  and  I  seek  not  to  shield  me? 
I  yield,  sweet  Love  !  Spare  then  my  wounded  liver! 
And  do  not  make  my  heart  thy  arrows'  quiver, 
O  hold,  what  needs  this  shooting!  when  I  yield  me? 


FINIS. 


153 


The    Triumph?    of    0  r  i  a  n  a 
Edited    by    Thomas    Morley. 

i  6  o  i. 


To  the  Right  Honourable 

The  Lord  CHARLES  HOWARD, 

Earl  of  Nottingham,   Baron  of  Effingham, 

Knight    of   the   noble    Order    of    the    Garter; 

Lord  High  Admiral  of  England,   Ireland,  and 

Wales,  &c;  and  one  of  Her  Majesty's  most 

honourable  Privy   Council. 

Right    Honourable. 

Have  adventured  to  dedicate  these  few  discordant 
tunes,  to  be  censured  by  the  ingenious  disposition  of 
your  Lordship's  honourable  rare  perfection  ;  persuad- 
ing myself  that  these  labours,  composed  by  me  and 
others — as  in  the  survey  hereof,  your  Lordship  may  well  perceive 
— may   not,  by  any  means,  pass  without  the  malignity  of  soms- 


npr^ 


154     Dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Nottingham. 

malicious  MoMUS,  whose  malice,  being  as  toothsome  as  adder's 
sting,  couched  in  the  progress  of  a  wayfaring  man's  passage,  might 
make  him  retire,  though  almost  at  his  journey's  end. 

Two  special  motives  have  emboldened  me,  Right  Honourable  ! 
in  this  my  proceeding.  First,  for  that  I  consider  that  as  the  body 
cannot  be  without  the  shadow ;  so  Homer,  the  prince  of  poets, 
may  not  be  without  a  Zoilist.  The  second  and  last  is  the  most 
forcible  motive  :  I  know  not  only  by  report,  by  also  by  experience, 
your  Lordship  to  be  not  only  Philomusus,  a  Lover  of  the  Muses 
and  of  Learning  ;  but  Philomathes,  apersonage  always  desirous, 
though  in  all  arts  sufficiently  skilful,  to  come  to  a  more  high  per- 
fection or  summum  bonum. 

/  will  not  trouble  your  Lordship  with  too  too  tedious  circum- 
stances, only  I  humbly  entreat  your  Lordship — in  the  name  of 
many — to  patronage  this  work,  with  not  less  acceptance,  than  I 
with  a  willing  and  kind  heart,  dedicate  it.  So  shall  I  think 
the  initium  of  this  work  not  only  happily  began,  but  to  be  finited 
with  a  more  happy  period. 

Your  Honour's  devoted  in  all  duty, 

Thomas    Morley. 


155 


The  Triumphs  of  Oriana. 


MICHAEL     ESTE. 

Ence  stars  !  too  dim  of  light ! 
You  dazzle  but  the  sight  ! 
You  teach  to  grope  by  night ! 
See  here  the  shepherd's  starl 
Excelling  you  so  far." 
Then  Phcebus  wiped  his  eye, 
And  Zephyr  cleared  the  skies 
In  sweet  accented  cries, 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 

1T  This  Song  being  sent  too  late,  and  all  my  others  printed, 
I  placed  it  before  the  rest,  rather  than  to  leave  it  out. 


DANIEL     NORCOME. 

Ith  Angel's  face  and  brightness,  and  orient  hue, 
Fair  Oriana  shining,  with  nimble  foot  she  tripped 
o'er  hills  and  mountains ; 

Hard  by  Diana's  fountains : 
At  last  in  dale  she  rested. 
This  is  that  maiden  Queen  of  the  Fairy  Land, 

With  sceptre  in  her  hand.  [lightness. 

The    Fawns  and   Satyrs   dancing,   did   show   their    nimble 
Fair  Nais  and  the  nymphs  did  leave  their  bowers, 
And  brought  their  baskets  full  of  herbs  and  flowers : 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


156  Thomas  Morley's 

john    mundy. 

Ightly  She  whipped  o'er  the  dales, 
Making  the  woods  proud  with  her  presence; 
Gently  She  trode  the  flowers,  and  they  as  gently 
kissed  her  tender  feet. 
The  birds  in  their  best  language  bade  her  welcome, 
Being  proud  that  Oriana  heard  their  song. 
The   clove-foot    Satyrs   singing,  made  music  to   the  Fauns 

a-dancing, 
And  both  together,  with  an  emphasis, sang  Oriana's  praises 
Whilst  the  adjoining  woods  with  melody  did  entertain  their 

sweet  harmony. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


ELLIS     GIBBONS. 

Also  set  to  music  by   thomas    hunt. 

Ong  live  fair  Oriana  ! 
Hark  !  did  you  ever  hear  so  sweet  a  singing  ? 

They  sing,  young  Love  to  waken  ! 
The    nymphs    unto   the   woods,   their   Queen    are 
bringing. 

There  was  a  note  well  taken  ! 
O  good  !  hark  !  how  joyfully  'tis  dittied  ! 
A  Queen  and  Song  most  excellently  fitted. 
I  never  saw  a  fairer, 
I  never  heard  a  rarer  : 
Then  sing,  ye  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  ORIANA  I 


Triumphs  of  Oriana.  157 

john    benet. 

Ll  creatures  now  are  merry-minded, 

The  shepherd's  daughters  playing  : 

The  nymphs  are  "  Fa,  la  la-ing," 

Yon  bugle  was  well  winded  ; 
At  Oriana's  presence,  each  thing  smileth, 

The  flowers  themselves  discover ; 

Birds  over  her  do  hover, 

Music,  the  time  beguileth  : 
See,  where  She  comes,  with  flow'ry  garlands  crowned, 

Queen  of  all  queens  renowned. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


JOHN      HILTON, 

Air  Oriana,  Beauty's  Queen  ! 
Tripped  along  the  verdant  green  ; 
The  Fauns  and  Satyrs  running  out, 
Skipped  and  danced  round  about. 
Flora  forsook  her  painted  bowers, 
And  made  a  coronet  of  flowers. 
Then  sang  the  nymphs  of  chaste  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


GEORGE      MARSON 

He  nymphs  and  shepherds  danced 
La  Voltos  in  a  daisy-tapestred  valley  ; 
Love  from  their  face-lamps  glanced, 
Till  wantonly  they  dally  : 
Till  in  a  rose-banked  alley 
Bright  Majesty  advanced, 
A  crown-graced  Virgin,  whom  all  people  honour 


158  Thomas  Morley's 

They  leave  their  sport,  amazed, 

Run  all  to  look  upon  her. 

A  moment  scarce  they  gazed, 
Ere  Beauty's  splendour  all  their  eyes  had  dazed, 
Desire  to  see  yet  ever  fixed  on  her. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oman  A  ! 

RICHARD      CARLTON. 

Alm  was  the  air  and  clear  the  sky, 
Fair  Oriana  passing  by, 
Over  the  downs  to  Ida  plains, 
Where  heaven-born  Sisters  with  their  trains, 
Did  all  attend  her  sacred  Beauty, 
Striving  to  excel  in  duty. 
Satyrs  and  Nymphs  dancing  together, 
Shepherds  triumphing,  flocking  thither. 
Seeing  their  sov'reign  Mistress  there, 
That  kept  their  flocks  and  them  from  fear ; 
With  high-strained  voice 
And  hearts  rejoice. 
Thus  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 

JOHN      HOLMES. 

Hus  Bonny-bootes  the  birthday  celebrated, 
Of  her,  his  Lady  dearest, 
Fair  Oriana,  which  to  his  heart  was  nearest. 
The  Nymphs  and  Shepherds  feasted 
With  clouted  cream,  and  were  to  sing  requested. 
11  Lo  here,  the  Fair  created,"  quoth  he,  "the  world's  chief 

Goddess  ;  " 
Sing  then,  for  She  is  Bonny-bootes  sweet  Mistress! 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


Triumphs  of  Oriana. 


159 


RICHARD      NICOLSON 

Ing  shepherds  all,  and  in  your  roundelays, 
Sing  only  of  fair  Oriana's  praise. 
The  gods  above  will  help  to  bear  a  part, 
And  men  below  will  try  their  greatest  art, 
Though  neither  gods  nor  men  can  well  apply 
Fit  song  or  tune  to  praise  her  worthily. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


THOMAS      TOMKINS. 

He  Fauns  and  Satyrs  tripping, 
With  lively  Nymphs  of  fresh  cool  brooks  and  foun- 
tains, 

And  those  of  woods  and  mountains, 

Like  roes  came  nimbly  skipping. 

By  signs,  their  mirth  unripping, 

My  fairy  Queen,  they  presented. 

With  Amaltheas  twenty, 

Brim  full  of  wealthy  plenty. 

And  still  to  give  frequented, 

With  bare  gifts  not  contented, 
The  demi-gods  pray  to  the  gods  supernal, 
Her  life,  her  wealth,  her  fame  may  be  eternal ! 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  t 


MICHAEL      CAVENDISH. 

Ome,  gentle  swains  and  shepherds'  dainty  daughters, 

Adorned  with  courtesy,  and  comely  duties  ! 
Come  sing,  and  joy,  and  grace  with  lovely  laughters, 

The  birthday  of  the  beauties  ! 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


160  Thomas  Morley's 

william    cobbold. 

Ithdraw  yourselves,  ye  shepherds !  from  your  bowers, 
And  strew  the  path  with  flowers. 

The  Nymphs  are  coming ! 
Sweetly  the  birds  are  chirping, 
The  swift  beasts  running, 
As  all  amazed,  they  stand  still  gazing, 
To  see  such  bright  stars  blazing, 
To  Dian  bravely  treading. 
The  powers  divine,  to  her  do  vail  their  bonnets, 
Prepare  yourselves  to  sound  your  pastoral  sonnets, 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 


THOMAS      MORLEY. 

Rise  !  awake  !  you  silly  shepherds  sleeping, 
Devise  some  honour  for  her  sake  by  mirth  to  banish 

weeping, 

Lo !  where  she  comes  in  gaudy  green  arraying ! 
A  Prince  of  beauty,  rich  and  rare,  for  her  delighting 

pretends  to  go  a-Maying. 
You   stately  nymphs,  draw  near,  and   strew  your 
paths  with  roses, 

In  you,  her  trust  reposes ! 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  ORIANA  ! 


Triumphs  of  Ortana.  161 

john    farmer. 

Air  Nymphs,  I  heard  one  telling 
Diana's  train  are  hunting  in  this  Chace. 
To  beautify  this  place 
The  Fauns  are  running; 
The  Shepherds  their  pipes  tuning, 
To  show  their  cunning  : 
The  lambs  amazed,  leave  off  their  grazing, 

And  blind  their  eyes  with  gazing : 
While  the  earth's  Goddess  doth  draw  nearyour  places, 
Attended  by  the  Muses  and  the  Graces. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 

JOHN      WILBY. 

He  Lady  Oriana 

Was  dight  all  in  the  treasures  of  Guiana  ; 
And  on  her  Grace,  a  thousand  graces  tended, 
And  thus  sang  they,    "Fair  Queen  of  Peace  and 
Plenty ! 
The  fairest  Queen  of  twenty  !  " 
Then  with  an  olive  wreath,  for  peace  renowned, 
Her  virgin  head,  they  crowned. 
Which  ceremony  ended, 
Unto  her  Grace,  the  thousand  graces  bended. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


THOMAS     WEELKES. 

S  Vesta  was  from  Latmos  hill  descending, 
She  spied  a  Maiden  Queen  the  same  ascending, 
Attended  on  by  all  the  shepherds'  swain, 
To   whom    Diana's   darlings   came  running   down 
a-main : 
u  L 


l62 


Thomas  Morley's 


First  two  by  two,  then  three  by  three  together, 
Leaving  their  goddess  all  alone,  hasted  thither 
And  mingling  with  the  shepherds  of  her  train, 
With  mirthful  tunes  her  presence  entertain. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 


John     milton  [the  father  of  the  Poet], 

Air  Oriana  in  the  morn, 
Before  the  day  was  born  ; 
With  velvet  steps  on  ground, 
Which  made  nor  print  nor  sound, 
Would  see  her  Nymphs  a-bed ; 
What  lives  those  Ladies  led. 
The  roses,  blushing,  said, 
"  O  stay  thou  Shepherd's  Maid !  " 
And  on  a  sudden  all, 
They  rose  and  heard  her  call. 
Then  sang  those  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


ELLIS      GIBBONS. 

Ound  about  her  chariot  with  all  admiring  strains, 
The  Hyades  and  Dryades  give  sweetest  entertains. 
Lo,  how  the  gods,  in  revels,  do  accord, 
Whilst  doth  each  goddess  melodies  afford. 
Now  Bacchus  is  consorting, 
Silvanus  falls  a  sporting, 
Amphion's  harp  reporting, 
To  the  shepherds'  pipes,  sing  the  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 


Triumphs  of  Oriana.  163 

george     kirbye. 

Right  Phoebus  greets  most  clearly, 
With  radiant  beams,  fair  Oriana  sitting, 
Her  apple,  Venus  yields,  as  most  befitting, 
A  Queen  beloved  most  dearly, 
Rich  Pluto  leaves  his  treasures  ! 
And  Proserpine,  glad,  runs  in  her  best  array, 
Nymphs  deck  her  crown  with  bay! 
Her  feet,  are  lions  kissing, 
No  joy  can  there  be  missing! 
Now  Thetis  leaves  the  Mermaids'  tunes  admired, 
And  swells  with  pride,  to  see  her  Queen  desired  ! 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 


ROBERT      JONES. 

Air  Oriana,  seeming  to  wink  at  folly, 
Lay  softly  down  to  sleeping; 
But  hearing  that  the  world  was  grown  unholy, 

Her  rest  was  turned  to  weeping. 
So  waked,  she  sighed  ;  and  with  crossed  arms, 
Sat  drinking  tears  for  others'  harms ; 
Then  sang  the  nymphs  and  shepherds  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


JOHN      LISLE  Y. 

Air  Cytharea  presents  her  doves  !  Minerva  singeth, 
Jove  gives  a  crown,  a  garland  Juno  bringeth  ; 
Fame  summoned  each  celestial  power 

To  bring  their  gifts  to  Oriana's  bower. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  ! 


164      Thomas  Morley's  Triumphs  of  Oriana. 


THOMAS      MORLEY. 


\rd  by  a  crystal  fountain, 
Oriana  the  bright,  lay  down  a  sleeping. 
The  birds  they  finely  chirped,  the  winds  were  stilled 
Sweetly  with  these  accenting,  the  air  was  filled, 
This  is  that  Fair  whose  head  a  crown  deserveth, 

Which  heaven  for  her  reserveth. 
Leave,    shepherds,   your    lambs'  keeping   upon   the   barren 

mountain  ! 
And  Nymphs  attend  on  her,  and  leave  your  bowers ! 
For  She,  the  shepherd's  life  maintains,  and  yours. 
Then  sang  the  shepherds  and  nymphs  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 


EDWARD      JOHNSON. 

Ome,  blessed  bird,  and  with  thy  sugared  relish, 
Help  our  declining  quire  now  to  embellish  : 

I  For  Bonny-bootes  that  so  aloft  would  fetch  it, 
O  he  is  dead !  and  none  of  us  can  reach  it. 
Then  tune  to  us,  sweet  bird  !  thy  shrill  recorder, 
For  fault  of  better,  will  serve  in  the  chorus ! 
Begin,  and  we  will  follow  thee  in  order  ! 
Then  sang  the  wood-born  Minstrel  of  Diana, 
Long  live  fair  Oriana  I 

FINIS. 


i<55 


ft     Book     of     Air?, 
b  Y 
Thomas  Campion,  M.D.  &  Philip  Rosseter,  Lutenist. 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall  on  the  8th  May,  1601. 

TO    THE    RIGHT 

VIRTUOUS    AND     WORTHY 

KNIGHT,   SIR  THOMAS  MONSOK. 

Sir, 

He  general  voice  of  your  worthiness,  and  many 
particular  favours  which  I  have  heard  Master 
Campion,  with  dutiful  respect,  often  acknowledge 
himself  to  have  received  from  you,  have  em- 
boldened me  to  present  this  Book  of  Airs  to  your  favour- 
able judgement  and  gracious  protection !  Especially,  be- 
cause the  first  rank  of  Songs  are  of  his  own  composition, 
made  at  his  vacant  hours,  and  privately  imparted  to  his 
friends  :  whereby  they  grew  both  public,  and,  as  coin  cracked 
in  exchange,  corrupted ;  and  some  of  them,  both  words  and 
notes,    unrespectively   challenged   [claimed]   by  others.      In 


1 66  To  the  Reader. 

regard  of  which  wrongs,  though  he  himself  neglects  these 
light  fruits  as  superfluous  blossoms  of  his  deeper  studies ;  yet 
hath  it  pleased  him,  upon  my  entreaty,  to  grant  me  the  im- 
pression of  a  part  of  them :  to  which  I  have  added  an  equal 
number  of  mine  own.  And  this  two-faced  Janus,  thus  in  one 
body  united,  I  humbly  intreat  you  to  entertain  and  defend ! 
chiefly  in  respect  of  the  affection  which  I  suppose  you  bear 
him ;  who,  I  am  assured,  doth,  above  all  others,  love  and 
honour  you  ! 

And,  for  my  part,  I  shall  think  myself  happy  if,  in  any 
service,  I  may  deserve  this  favour. 

Your  Worship's  humbly  devoted, 

Philip    Rosseter. 


■«* 


TO    THE     READER. 

Hat  Epigrams  are  in  Poetry,  the  same  are  Airs  in 
Music :  then  in  their  chief  perfection,  when  they  are 
short  and  well  seasoned.  But  to  clog  a  light  Song 
with  a  long  preludium,  is  to  corrupt  the  nature 
of  it.  Many  rests  in  music  were  invented,  either  for  necessity 
of  the  fugue,  or  granted  as  an  harmonical  licence  in  songs  oj 
many  parts  :  but  in  Airs,  I  find  no  use  they  have,  unless  it  be  to 
make  a  vulgar  and  trivial  modulation  seem  to  the  ignorant,  strange; 
and  to  the  judicial,  tedious.  A  naked  Air  without  guide,  or  prop, 
or  colour  but  his  own,  is  easily  censured  of  every  ear  ;  and  requires 
so  much  the  more  invention  to  make  it  please.  And  as  Martial 
speaks  in  defence  of  his  short  Epigrams;  so  may  I  say  in  the 
apology  of  A  irs  :  that  where  there  is  a  full  volume,  there  can  be 


To  the  Reader.  167 

no  imputation  of  shortness.  The  lyric  poets  among  the  Greeks  and 
Latins  were  the  first  inventors  of  Airs,  tying  themselves  strictly  to 
the  number  and  value  of  their  syllables:  of  which  sort,  you  shall  find 
here,  only  one  song  in  Sapphic  verse  [p.  179]  ;  the  rest  are  after  the 
fashion  of  the  time,  ear-pleasing  rhymes,  without  art.  The  subject 
of  them  is,  for  the  most  part,  amorous :  and  why  not  amorous 
songs,  as  well  as  amorous  attires  ?  Or  why  not  new  airs,  as  well 
as  new  fashions  ? 

For  the  Note  and  Tableture,  if  they  satisfy  the  most,  we  have  our 
desire;  let  expert  masters  please  themselves  with  better  !  And  if 
any  light  error  hath  escaped  us  ;  the  skilful  may  easily  correct  it, 
the  unskilful  will  hardly  perceive  it.  But  there  are  some,  who,  to 
appear  the  more  deep  and  singular  in  their  judgement,  will  admit 
no  music  but  that  which  is  long,  intricate,  bated  with  fugue, 
chained  with  syncopation,  and  where  the  nature  of  every  word  is 
precisely  expressed  in  the  note  :  like  the  old  exploded  action  in 
Comedies,  when  if  they  did  pronounce  Memini,  they  would  point  to 
the  hinder  part  of  their  heads ;  if  Video,  put  their  finger  in  their 
eye.  But  such  childish  observing  of  words  is  altogether  ridiculous  : 
and  we  ought  to  maintain,  as  well  in  notes,  as  in  action,  a  manly 
carriage;  gracing  no  word,  but  that  which  is  eminent  and  em- 
phatical.  Nevertheless,  as  in  Poesy  we  give  the  preeminence  to  the 
Heroical  Poem  ;  so  in  Music,  we  yield  the  chief  place  to  the  grave 
and  well  invented  Motet :  bid  not  to  every  harsh  and  dull  confused 
Fantasy,  where,  in  a  multitude  of  points,  the  harmony  is  quite 
drowned, 

A  irs  have  both  their  art  and  pleasure  :  and  I  will  conclude  of 
them,  as  the  poet  did  in  his  censure  of  Catullus  the  Lyric,  and 
Virgil  the  Heroic  writer : 

Tantum  magna  suo  debet  Verona  Catullo  : 
Quantum  parva  suo  Mantua  Virgilio. 


1 68 


Thomas  Campion's 


Songs. 

By   Thomas    Campion,   M.D. 


Y  sweetest  Lesbia!  Let  us  live  and  love! 

And  though  the  sager  sort  our  deeds  re- 
prove, 

Let  us  not  weigh  them !  Heaven's  great 
lamps  do  dive 

Into  their  west,  and  straight  again  revive: 

But  soon,  as  once,  is  set  our  little  light ; 

Then  must  we  sleep  one  ever-during  night ! 


If  all  would  lead  their  lives  in  love  like  me, 
Then  bloody  swords  and  armour  should  not  be ; 
No  drum,  nor  trumpet,  peaceful  sleeps  should  move, 
Unless  alarm  came  from  the  Camp  of  Love  : 
But  fools  do  live,  and  waste  their  little  light ; 
And  seek,  with  pain,  their  ever-during  night. 

When  timely  death,  my  life  and  fortunes  ends, 
Let  not  my  hearse  be  vext  with  mourning  friends  ! 
But  let  all  lovers,  rich  in  triumph,  come, 
And  with  sweet  pastimes  grace  my  happy  tomb  ! 
And  Lesbia  !  Close  up  thou,  my  little  light ! 
And  crown  with  love,  my  ever-during  night ! 


Hough  you  are  young,  and  I  am  old, 
Though  your  veins  hot,  and  my  blood  cold, 
Though  youth  is  moist,  and  age  is  dry ; 
Yet  embers  live,  when  flames  do  die. 


Book  of  Airs.  169 


The  tender  graft  is  easily  broke, 
But  who  shall  shake  the  sturdy  oak  ? 
You  are  more  fresh  and  fair  than  I ; 
Yet  stubs  do  live  when  flowers  do  die. 


Thou,  that  thy  youth  doth  vainly  boast ! 
Know,  buds  are  soonest  nipt  with  frost. 
Think  that  thy  fortune  still  doth  cry ! 
"  Thou  fool!  to-morrow  thou  must  die  ! ' 


Care  not  for  these  ladies, 

That  must  be  wooed  and  prayed : 

Give  me  kind  Amarillis, 

The  wanton  country  maid  ! 

Nature,  art  disdaineth, 

Her  beauty  is  her  own. 

Her,  when  we  court  and  kiss, 
She  cries,  "  Forsooth,  let  go  !  " 
But  when  we  come  where  comfort  is, 
She  never  will  say,  "No!" 


If  I  love  Amarillis, 

She  gives  me  fruit  and  flowers : 

But  if  we  love  these  ladies, 

We  must  give  golden  showers. 

Give  them  gold,  that  sell  love  ! 

Give  me  the  nut-brown  lass! 
Who,  when  we  court  and  kiss, 
She  cries,  "  Forsooth,  let  go  !  " 
But  when  we  come  where  comfort  is, 
She  never  will  say,  "  No  !  " 


170  Thomas  Campion's 

These  ladies  must  have  pillows 
And  beds,  by  strangers  wrought ; 
Give  me  a  bower  of  willows, 
Of  moss  and  leaves  unbought ! 
And  fresh  Amarillis, 
With  milk  and  honey  fed  ! 

Who,  when  we  court  and  kiss, 
She  cries,  "  Forsooth,  let  go  !  " 
But  when  we  come  where  comfort  is, 
She  never  will  say,  "  No  !  " 


Ollow  thy  fair  sun  !  unhappy  shadow ! 

Though  thou  be  black  as  night, 

And  she  made  all  of  light ; 

Yet,  follow  thy  fair  sun  !  unhappy  shadow  ! 


Follow  her  !  whose  light,  thy  light  depriveth ; 

Though  here  thou  liv'st  disgraced, 

And  she  in  heaven  is  placed  : 

Yet,  follow  her,  whose  light  the  world  reviveth  ! 


Follow  those  pure  beams  !  whose  beauty  burnetii, 

That  so  have  scorched  thee, 

As  thou  still  black  must  be, 

Till  her  kind  beams,  thy  black  to  brightness  turneth. 


Follow  her  !  while  yet  her  glory  shineth  : 

There  comes  a  luckless  night, 

That  will  dim  all  her  light; 

And  this,  the  black  unhappy  shade  divineth. 


Book  of  Airs. 

Follow  still !  since  so  thy  fates  ordained, 

The  sun  must  have  his  shade, 

Till  both  at  once  do  fade ; 

The  sun  still  proved,  the  shadow  still  disdained. 


171 


Hen  to  her  lute,  Corinna  sings, 

Her  voice  revives  the  leaden  strings, 

And  doth  in  highest  notes  appear, 

As  any  challenged  Echo  clear; 

But  when  she  doth,  of  mourning  speak, 

E'en  with  her  sighs,  the  strings  do  break. 


And  as  her  lute  doth  live  or  die, 

Led  by  her  passion,  so  must  I ! 

For  when  of  pleasure,  she  doth  sing, 

My  thoughts  enjoy  a  sudden  spring  ; 

But  if  she  doth,  of  sorrow  speak, 

E'en  from  my  heart,  the  strings  do  break. 


Urn  back  !  you  wanton  flyer ! 

And  answer  my  desire, 

With  mutual  greeting. 

Yet  bend  a  little  nearer  ! 

True  beauty  still  shines  clearer, 

In  closer  meeting. 

Hearts,  with  hearts  delighted, 

Should  strive  to  be  united  ; 

Each  other's  arms,  with  arms  enchaining 

Hearts  with  a  thought, 

Rosy  lips  with  a  kiss  still  entertaining. 


172  Thomas  Campion's 

What  harvest  half  so  sweet  is, 

As  still  to  reap  the  kisses 

Grown  ripe  in  sowing  ? 

And  straight  to  be  receivet 

Of  that,  which  thou  art  giver  ! 

Rich  in  bestowing  ? 

There's  no  strict  observing, 

Of  times,  or  seasons  changing ; 

There,  is  ever  one  fresh  spring  abiding. 

Then  what  we  sow  with  our  lips, 

Let  us  reap,  love's  gains  dividing ! 


He  cypress  curtain  of  the  night  is  spread, 

And  over  all,  a  silent  dew  is  cast. 

The  weaker  cares,  by  sleep  are  conquered  : 

But  I  alone,  with  hideous  grief,  aghast, 

In  spite  of  Morpheus'  charms,  a  watch  do  keep 

Over  mine  eyes,  to  banish  careless  sleep. 


Yet  oft,  my  trembling  eyes,  through  faintness,  close, 
And  then  the  Map  of  Hell  before  me  stands ; 
Which  ghosts  do  see,  and  I  am  one  of  those 
Ordained  to  pine  in  sorrow's  endless  bands : 
Since  from  my  wretched  soul,  all  hopes  are  reft, 
And  now  no  cause  of  life  to  me  is  left. 


Grief,  seize  my  soul !  for  that  will  still  endure, 
When  my  crazed  body  is  consumed  and  gone ; 
Bear  it  to  thy  black  den  !  there,  keep  it  sure ! 
Where  thou  ten  thousand  souls  dost  tire  upon  : 
Yet  all  do  not  afford  such  food  to  thee 
As  this  poor  one,  the  worser  part  of  me. 


Book  of  Airs.  173 

OLLOW  your  saint !     Follow,  with  accents  sweet! 

Haste  you,  sad  notes,  fall  at  her  flying  fleet ! 

There  wrapped  in  cloud  of  sorrow,  pity  move, 

And  tell  the  ravisher  of  my  soul,  I  perish  for  her  love: 
But  if  she  scorns  my  never  ceasing  pain, 
Then  burst  with  sighing,  in  her  sight,  and  ne'er  return  again  ! 

All  that  I  sang,  still  to  her  praise  did  tend  ; 
Still  she  was  first ;  still  she  my  songs  did  end  : 
Yet  she,  my  love  and  music,  both  doth  fly, 
The  music  that  her  Echo  is,  and  beauty's  sympathy. 
Then,  let  my  notes  pursue  her  scornful  flight ! 
It  shall  suffice  that  they  were  breathed  ;  and  died  for  her 
delight. 


AlR,  if  you  expect  admiring; 
Sweet,  if  you'd  provoke  desiring; 
Grace,  dear!  love,  with  kind  requiting! 
Fond,  but  if  thy  light  be  blindness  ; 
False,  if  thou  affect  unkindness  ; 
Fly  both  love  and  love's  delighting ! 
Then,  when  hope  is  lost,  and  love  is  scorned, 
I  '11  bury  my  desires,  and  quench  the  fires  that  ever 
yet  in  vain  have  burned. 

Fates,  if  you  rule  lovers'  fortune; 
Stars,  if  men  your  powers  importune  ; 
Yield  relief  by  your  relenting! 
Time,  if  sorrow  be  not  endless, 
Hope,  made  vain?  and  pity,  friendless, 
Help  to  ease  my  long  lamenting ! 
But  if  griefs  remain  still  unredressed, 
I  '11  fly  to  her  again,  and  sue  for  pity,  to  renew  my 
hopes  distressed. 


174  Thomas  Campion's 


Hou  art  not  fair,  for  all  thy  red  and  white, 

For  all  those  rosy  ornaments  in  thee  ; 

Thou  art  not  sweet,  though  made  of  mere  delight, 

Nor  fair  nor  sweet,  unless  thou  pity  me ! 

I  will  not  sooth  thy  fancies  :  thou  shalt  prove 

That  beauty  is  no  beauty  without  love. 


Yet  love  not  me  !  nor  seek  thou  to  allure 
My  thoughts,  with  beauty ;  were  it  more  divine 
Thy  smiles  and  kisses  I  cannot  endure, 
I'll  not  be  wrapt  up  in  those  arms  of  thine : 
Now  show  it,  if  thou  be  a  woman  right, — 
Embrace,  and  kiss,  and  love  me,  in  despite  ! 


Ee  where  she  flies,  enraged,  from  me ! 

View  her,  when  she  intends  despite, 

The  wind  is  not  more  swift  than  she. 

Her  fury  moved,  such  terror  makes 

As  to  a  fearful  guilty  sprite, 

The  voice  of  heaven's  huge  thunder  cracks : 

But  when  her  appeased  mind  yields  to  delight, 

All  her  thoughts  are  made  of  joys, 

Millions  of  delights  inventing  ; 

Other  pleasures  are  but  toys, 

To  her  beauty's  sweet  contenting. 


Book  of  A.irs.  175 

My  fortune  hangs  upon  her  brow  : 

For  as  she  smiles  or  frowns  on  me, 

So  must  my  blown  affections  bow ; 

And  her  proud  thoughts  too  well  do  find, 

With  what  unequal  tyranny, 

Her  beauties  do  command  my  mind. 

Though,  when  her  sad  planet  reigns, 

Forward  she  be ; 

She,  alone,  can  pleasure  move, 

And  displeasing  sorrow  banish. 

May  I  but  still  hold  her  love, 

Let  all  other  comforts  vanish. 


Lame  not  my  cheeks!  though  pale  with  love  they  be, 
The  kindly  heat  unto  my  heart  is  flown, 
To  cherish  it,  that  is  dismayed  by  thee, 
Who  art  so  cruel  and  unstedfast  grown  : 
For  Nature,  called  for  by  distressed  hearts, 
Neglects,  and  quite  forsakes  the  outward  parts. 

But  they  whose  cheeks  with  careless  blood  are  stained, 
Nurse  not  one  spark  of  love  within  their  hearts; 
And  when  they  woo,  they  speak  with  passion  feigned, 
For  their  fat  love  lies  in  their  outward  parts  : 
But  in  their  breasts,  where  Love  his  Court  should  hold, 
Poor  Cupid  sits,  and  blows  his  nails  for  cold. 


Hen  the  god  of  merry  love, 
As  yet  in  his  cradle  lay, 
Thus  his  wither'd  nurse  did  say : 
"  Thou  a  wanton  boy  wilt  prove, 
To  deceive  the  powers  above; 
For  by  thy  continual  smiling, 
1  see  thy  power  of  beguiling." 


176  Thomas  Campion's 

Therewith  she,  the  babe  did  kiss ; 
When  a  sudden  fire  outcame, 
From  those  burning  lips  of  his, 
That  did  her,  with  love  inflame. 
But  none  would  regard  the  same ; 
So  that,  to  her  day  of  dying, 
The  old  wretch  lived  ever  crying. 


Istress  !  since  you  so  much  desire, 
To  know  the  place  of  Cupid's  fire. 
In  your  fair  shrine  that  flame  doth  rest 
Yet  never  harboured  in  your  breast. 
It  'bides  not  in  your  lips  so  sweet, 
Nor  where  the  rose  and  lilies  meet ; 
But  a  little  higher,  a  little  higher ; 
There,  there,  0  there  lies  Cupid's  fire. 

Even  in  those  starry  piercing  eyes, 
There,  Cupid's  sacred  fire  lies ! 
Those  eyes,  I  strive  not  to  enjoy, 
For  they  have  power  to  destroy. 
Nor  woo  I  for  a  smile  or  kiss. 
So  meanly  triumphs  not  my  bliss  ; 
But  a  little  higher,  a  little  higher  ; 
I  climb  to  crown  my  chaste  desire. 


Our  fair  looks  inflame  my  desire  ! 

Quench  it  again  with  love  ! 
Stay,  O  strive  not  still  to  retire  ! 

Do  not  inhuman  prove  ! 
If  love  may  persuade, 

Love's  plet  sures,  Dear  !  deny  not ! 
Here  is  a  silent  grovy  shade, 

O  tarry  the  i,  and  fly  not  I 


Book  of  Airs.  177 

Have  I  seized  my  heavenly  delight 

In  this  unhaunted  grove? 
Time  shall  now  her  fury  requite, 

With  the  revenge  of  love. 
Then  come  !  Sweetest  !  come, 

My  lips  with  kisses  gracing, 
Here  let  us  harbour  all  alone, 

Die,  die  in  sweet  embracing! 


Will  you  now  so  timely  depart, 

And  not  return  again  ? 
Your  sight  lends  such  life  to  my  heart, 

That  to  depart  is  pain. 
Fear  yields  no  delay, 

Secureness  helpeth  pleasure. 
Then,  till  the  time  gives  safer  stay, 

O  farewell !  my  life's  treasure  ! 


He  man  of  life  upright, 

Whose  guiltless  heart  is  free 
From  all  dishonest  deeds, 

Or  thought  of  vanity  : 

The  man  whose  silent  days, 

In  harmless  joys  are  spent ; 

Whom  hopes  cannot  delude, 
Nor  sorrow  discontent : 


That  man  needs  neither  towers 

Nor  armour  for  defence  ; 
Nor  secret  vaults  to  fly 

From  thunder's  violence. 
II  M 


178  Thomas  Campion's 

He,  only,  can  behold, 

With  unaffrighted  eyes, 

The  horrors  of  the  deep 

And  terrors  of  the  skies. 


Thus  scorning  all  the  cares, 

That  fate  or  fortune  brings  j 

He  makes  the  heaven  his  book, 
His  wisdom,  heavenly  things. 


Good  thoughts,  his  only  friends ; 

His  wealth,  a  well-spent  age: 
The  earth,  his  sober  Inn, 

And  quiet  Pilgrimage. 


Hen  thou  must  home,  to  shades  of  underground, 

And  there  arrived,  a  new  admired  guest, 

The  beauteous  spirits  do  engirt  the  round, 

White  Iope,  blithe  Helen,  and  the  rest, 

To  hear  the  stories  of  thy  finisht  love, 

From  that  smooth  tongue,  whose  music,  hell  can  move. 


Then,  wilt  thou  speak  of  banquetting  delights, 
Of  masks  and  revels  which  sweet  youth  did  make, 
Of  tourneys  and  great  challenges  of  knights, 
And  all  these  triumphs,  for  thy  beauty  sake  : 
When  thou  hast  told  these  honours  done  to  thee, 
Then  tell,  O  tell,  how  thou  didst  murder  me. 


Book  of  Airs.  179 

Ome,  let  us  sound  with  melody,  the  praises 
Of  the  King's  King,  th'omnipotent  Creator, 
Author  of  number,  that  hath  all  the  world 

In  harmony  framed. 

Heav'n  is  His  throne  perpetually  shining, 

His  divine  power  and  glory,  thence  He  thunders, 

One  in  All,  and  All  still  in  One  abiding, 

Both  Father  and  Son. 

O  sacred  SPRITE!  invisible,  eternal, 
Ev'rywhere,  yet  unlimited,  that  all  things 
Can'st  in  one  moment  penetrate,  revive  me  ! 

O  Holy  SPIRIT! 

Rescue  !  O  rescue  me  from  earthly  darkness ! 
Banish  hence  all  these  elemental  objects  ! 
Guide  my  soul,  that  thirsts !  to  the  lively  fountain 

Of  thy  divineness  ! 

Cleanse  my  soul,  O  GOD  !  thy  bespotted  image  ! 
Altered  with  sin,  so  that  heavenly  pureness, 
Cannot  acknowledge  me ;  but  in  thy  mercies, 

O  Father  of  grace  ! 

But  when  once  Thy  beams  do  remove  my  darkness  ; 
O  then,  I'll  shine  forth,  as  an  angel  of  light, 
And  record,  with  more  than  an  earthly  voice,  Thy 

Infinite  honours. 


FINIS 


i8o 


Songs  set  by 


S  o  n  q  2    by    Philip    1|o^etei{ 


hmw^k; 

ff-jSf  IB 

|S^^E§ 

^r^fS 

Weet  !  come  again  ! 

Your  happy  sight,  so  much  desired, 
Since  you  from  hence  are  now  retired, 

I  seek  in  vain  : 
Still  I  must  mourn, 

And  pine  in  longing  pain ; 
Till  you,  my  life's  delight,  again 

Vouchsafe  your  wisht  return. 


If  true  desire, 

Or  faithful  vow  of  endless  love, 
Thy  heart  inflamed,  may  kindly  move 

With  equal  fire  ; 
O  then  my  joys, 

So  long  distraught,  shall  rest, 
Reposed  soft  in  thy  chaste  breast, 

Exempt  from  all  annoys. 


You  had  the  power 

My  wand'ring  thoughts  first  to  restrain, 
You  first  did  hear  my  love  speak  plain  ; 

A  child  before ; 
Now  it  is  grown 

Confirmed,  do  you  keep  it  ! 
And  let  it  safe,  in  your  bosom  sleep, 

There  ever  made  your  own  ! 


Philip  Rosseter  181 

And  till  we  meet, 

Teach  absence  inward  art  to  find, 
Both  to  disturb  and  please  the  mind  ; 

Such  thoughts  are  sweet  : 
And  such  remain 

In  hearts  whose  flames  are  true; 
Then  such  will  I  retain,  till  you 

To  me  return  again  ! 


Nd  would  you  see  my  mistress'  face  ? 

It  is  a  flowery  garden  place, 
Where  knots  of  beauties  have  such  grace, 

That  all  is  work,  and  nowhere  space. 

It  is  a  sweet  delicious  morn, 

Where  day  is  breeding,  never  born; 

It  is  a  meadow,  yet  unshorn, 

Which  thousand  flowers  do  adorn. 

It  is  the  heaven's  bright  reflex, 
Weak  eyes  to  dazzle  and  to  vex : 

It  is  th'  Idea  of  her  sex : 
Envy  of  whom  doth  world  perplex. 

It  is  a  face  of  Death  that  smiles, 

Pleasing,  though  it  kills  the  whiles : 

Where  Death  and  Love  in  pretty  wiles, 
Each  other  mutually  beguiles. 

It  is  fair  beauty's  freshest  youth, 
It  is  the  feigned  Elizium's  truth: 

The  spring,  that  wintered  hearts  reneweth ; 
And  this  is  that  my  soul  pursueth. 


182 


Songs  set  by 


O  grave  for  woe,  yet  earth  my  watery  tears  devours, 
Sighs  want  air;  and  burnt  desires, kind  pity's  showers: 
j|Stars  hold  their  fatal  course,  my  joys  preventing. 
The  earth,  the  sea,  the  air,  the  fire,  the  heavens  vow 
my  tormenting. 


Yet  still  I  live,  and  waste  my  weary  days  in  groans, 
And  with  woful  tunes  adorn  despairing  moans. 
Night  still  prepares  a  more  displeasing  morrow, 
My  day  is  night,  my  life  my  death,  and  all  but  sense  of 
sorrow. 


F  I  urge  my  kind  desires, 
She,  unkind,  doth  them  reject ; 
Women's  hearts  are  painted  fires, 
To  deceive  them  that  affect. 
I,  alone,  love's  fires  include  ; 
She,  alone,  doth  them  delude. 


She  hath  often  vowed  her  love  ; 
But,  alas  !  no  fruit  I  find. 
That  her  fires  are  false  I  prove, 
Yet,  in  her,  no  fault  I  find. 
I  was  thus  unhappy  born, 
And  ordained  to  be  her  scorn. 


Yet  if  human  care  or  pain, 
May  the  heavenly  order  change; 
She  will  hate  her  own  disdain, 
And  repent  she  was  so  strange : 
For  a  truer  heart  than  I, 
Never  lived,  nor  loved  to  die. 


Philip  Rosseter.  183 

Hat  heart's  content  can  he  find, 

What  happy  sleeps  can  his  eyes  embrace, 
That  bears  a  guilty  mind  ? 
His  taste,  sweet  wines  will  abhor, 
No  music's  sound  can  appease  the  thoughts 

That  wicked  deeds  deplore. 
The  passion  of  a  present  fear, 

Still  makes  his  restless  motion  there ; 
And,  all  the  day,  he  dreads  the  night, 

And,  all  the  night,  as  one  aghast,  he  fears  the  morning 
light. 

But  he  that  loves  to  be  loved, 

And,  in  his  deeds,  doth  adore  heaven's  power, 
And  is  with  pity  moved; 

The  night  gives  rest  to  his  heart, 
The  cheerful  beams  do  awake  his  soul, 

Revived  in  every  part. 
He  lives  a  comfort  to  his  friends, 

And  heaven  to  him,  such  blessing  sends, 
That  fear  of  hell  cannot  dismay 

His  steadfast  heart  that  is  [?] 


Et  him  that  will  be  free,  and  keep  his  heart  from 
care, 
Retired    alone,  remaining  where    no  discomforts 
are. 
For  when  the  eye  doth  view  his  grief,  or  hapless  ear   his 
sorrow  bears, 
Th'  impression  still  in  him  abides,  and  ever  in  one  shape 
appears. 


184  Songs  set  by 

Forget  thy  griefs,  betimes  !  LcQg  sorrow  breeds  long  pain, 

For  joy  far  fied  from  men,  will  not  return  again  ; 
0  happy  is  the  soul,  which  heaven  ordained  to  live  in  endless 


peace 


His  life  is  a  pleasing  dream,  and  every  hour  his  joys  in- 
crease. 


You  heavy  sprites  !  that  love  in  severed  shades  to  dwell, 

That  nurse  despair,  and  dream  of  unrelenting  hell ; 
Come  sing  this  happy  song !  and  learn  of  me  the  Art  of  True 
Content ! 
Load  not  your  guilty  souls  with  wrong  !  and  heaven,  then, 
will  soon  relent. 


Eprove  not  love !  though  fondly  thou  hast  lost 

Greater  hopes  by  loving. 
Love  calms  ambitious  spirits  ;  from  their  breasts 
Danger  oft  removing. 
Let  lofty  humours  mount  up  on  high, 

Down  again  like  to  the  wind  ; 
While  private  thoughts  vowed  to  love, 
More  peace  and  pleasure  find. 

Love  and  sweet  beauty  make  the  stubborn  mild, 

And  the  coward  fearless ; 
The  wretched  miser's  care,  to  bounty  turns, 

Cheering  all  things  cheerless. 
Love  chains  the  earth  and  heaven, 

Turns  the  spheres,  guides  the  years  in  endless  peace. 
The  flowery  earth,  through  his  power. 

Receives  her  due  increase. 


Philip  Rosseter.  185 

Nd  would  you  fain  the  reason  know, 
Why  my  sad  eyes,  so  often  flow  ? 
My  heart  ebbs  joy,  when  they  do  so, 

And  loves  the  moon  by  whom  they  go. 


And  will  you  ask,  "  Why  pale  I  look  ?  " 

'Tis  not  with  poring  on  my  book  : 
My  mistress'  cheek,  my  blood  hath  took, 

For  her,  mine  own  hath  me  forsook. 

Do  not  demand,  "  Why  I  am  mute  ?  " 

Love's  silence  doth  all  speech  confute. 
They  set  the  note,  then  tune  the  lute  ; 

Hearts  frame  their  thoughts,  then  tongues  their  suit. 

Do  not  admire,  "  Why  I  admire  ?  " 

My  fever  is  no  other's  fire  : 
Each  several  heart  hath  his  desire ; 

Else  proof  is  false,  and  truth  a  liar. 

If  why  I  love,  you  should  see  cause ! 

Love  should  have  form  like  other  laws, 
But  Fancy  pleads  not  by  the  claws, 

'Tis  as  the  sea,  still  vext  with  flaws. 

No  fault  upon  my  love  espy  ! 

For  you  perceive  not  with  my  eye ; 
My  palate,  to  your  taste  may  lie, 

Yet  please  itself  deliciously. 

Then  let  my  sufferance  be  mine  own ! 

Sufficeth  it  these  reasons  shown, 
Reason  and  love  are  ever  known 

To  fight,  till  both  be  overthrown. 


1 86  Songs  set  by 

Hen  Laura  smiles,  her  sight  revives  both  night  and 
day; 
The  earth  and  heaven  views  with  delight,  her  wan. 
ton  play : 

And  her  speech,  with  ever-flowing  music,  doth  repair 
The  cruel  wounds  of  sorrow  and  untamed  despair. 

The  sprites,  that  remain  in  fleeting  air, 

Affect,  for  pastime,  to  untwine  her  tressed  hair: 

And  the  birds  think  sweet  Aurora,  Morning's  Queen,  doth 

shine, 
From  her  bright  sphere,  when  Laura  shows  her  looks  divine. 

Diana's  eyes  are  not  adorned  with  greater  power 
Than  Laura's,  when  she  lists  awhile,  for  sport,  to  lower : 
But  when  she  her  eyes  encloseth,  blindness  doth  appear 
The  chiefest  grace  of  beauty,  sweetly  seated  there. 

Love  hath  no  fire,  but  what  he  steals  from  her  bright  eyes ; 
Time  hath  no  power,  but  thait  which  in  her  pleasure  lies: 
For  she,  with  her  divine  beauties,  all  the  world  subdues, 
And  fills  with  heavenly  spirits,  my  humble  Muse. 


Ong  have  mine  eyes  gazed  with  delight, 

Conveying  hopes  unto  my  soul ; 

In  nothing  happy,  but  in  sight 

Of  her,  that  doth  my  sight  control : 

But  now,  mine  eyes  must  lose  their  light. 

My  object,  now,  must  be  the  air; 

To  write  in  water,  words  of  fire  ; 

And  teach  sad  thoughts  how  to  despair : 

Desert  must  quarrel  with  Desire. 

All  were  appeased  were  she  not  fair. 


Philip  Rosseter.  i87 

For  all  my  comfort,  this  I  prove, 
That  Venus  on  the  sea  was  born : 
If  seas  be  calm,  then  doth  she  love ; 
If  storms  arise,  I  am  forlorn. 
My  doubtful  hopes,  like  wind  do  move. 


Hough  far  from  joy,  my  sorrows  are  as  far, 

And  I  both  between ; 

Not  too  low,  nor  yet  too  high 

Above  my  reach,  would  I  be  seen. 

Happy  is  he,  that  so  is  placed, 

Not  to  be  envied,  nor  to  be  disdained  or  disgraced. 

The  higher  trees,  the  more  storms  they  endure. 
Shrubs  be  trodden  down. 
But  the  mean,  the  Golden  Mean, 
Doth  only  all  our  fortunes  crown  : 
Like  to  a  stream,  that  sweetly  slideth 
Through  the  flowery  banks,  and  still  in  the  midst  his 
course  guideth. 


Hall  I  come,  if  I  swim  ?     Wide  are  the  waves,  you 

see  . 

Shall  I  come,  if  I  fly,  my  dear  Love  !  to  thee? 

Streams,  Venus  will  appease ;  Cupid  gives  me  wings. 
All  the  powers  assist  my  desire, 
Save  you  alone,  that  set  my  woful  heart  on  fire ! 

You  are  fair,  so  was  Hero,  that  in  Sestos  dwelt ; 

She  a  priest,  yet  the  heat  of  love  truly  felt. 
A  greater  stream  than  this,  did  her  love  divide ; 

But  she  was  his  guide,  with  a  light :  .        .  ,. 

So,  through  the  streams,  Leander  did  enjoy  her  sight. 


i88 


Songs  set  by 


Y  me  !  that  love  should  Nature's  work  accuse, 
Where  cruel  Laura  still  her  beauty  views ; 
River,  or  cloudy  jet,  or  crystal  bright, 
Are  all  but  servants  of  herself,  delight. 

Yet  her  deformed  thoughts,  she  cannot  see ; 

And  that's  the  cause  she  is  so  stern  to  me. 
Virtue  and  duty  can  no  favour  gain  : 

A  grief,  0  death  !  to  live  and  love  in  vain. 


Hall  then  a  trait'rous  kiss  or  a  smile, 

All  my  delights  unhappily  beguile  ? 
Shall  the  vow  of  feigned  love  receive  so  rich  regard  ; 

When  true  service  dies  neglected,  and  wants  his 
due  reward  ? 


Deeds  meritorious  soon  be  forgot, 

But  one  offence  no  time  can  ever  blot; 
Every  day  it  is  renewed,  and  every  night  it  bleeds, 

And  with  bloody  streams  of  sorrow  drowns  all  our  better 
deeds. 

Beauty  is  not  by  Desert  to  be  won  ; 

Fortune  hath  all  that  is  beneath  the  sun. 
Fortune  is  the  guide  of  Love ;  and  both  of  them  be  blind : 

All  their  ways  are  full  of  errors ;  which  no  true  feet  can 
find. 


F  I  hope,  I  pine  ;  if  I  fear,  I  faint  and  die; 

So  between  hope  and  fear,  I  desperate  lie, 
Looking  for  joy  to  heaven,  whence  it  should  come  : 

But  hope  is  blind;  joy,  deaf;  and  I  am  dumb. 


Philip  Rosseter.  189 

Yet,  I  speak  and  cry  ;  but,  alas,  with  words  of  woe : 
And  joy  conceives  not  them  that  murmur  so. 

He  that  the  ears  of  joy  will  ever  pierce, 

Must  sing  glad  notes,  or  speak  in  happier  verse. 


Nless  there  were  consent  'twixt  hell  and  heaven, 
That  grace  and  wickedness  should  be  combined  ; 
I  cannot  make  thee  and  thy  beauties  even  ! 
Thy  face  is  heaven  !  and  torture  in  thy  mind  1 
For  more  than  worldly  bliss  is  in  thy  eye ; 
And  hellish  torture  in  thy  mind  doth  lie. 

A  thousand  Cherubim  fly  in  her  looks ; 

And  hearts,  in  legions,  melt  upon  their  view : 

But  gorgeous  covers  wall  up  filthy  books, 

Be  it  sin  to  say,  that  so  your  eyes  do  you  ? 

But,  sure,  your  mind  adheres  not  with  your  eyes  ! 

For  what  they  promise,  that  your  heart  denies  ! 

But,  O,  lest  I  religion  should  misuse ; 

Inspire  me  thou,  that  ought'st  thyself  to  know  ! 

(Since  skilless  readers,  reading  do  abuse) 

What  inward  meaning,  outward  sense  doth  show  ? 

For  by  thy  eyes  and  heart,  chosen  and  contemned! 

I  waver ;  whether  saved  or  condemned. 


F  she  forsake,  I  must  die  ! 

Shall  I  tell  her  so  ? 
Alas,  then  strait  she  will  reply, 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  no  !  no  !  " 
If  I  disclose  my  desperate  state, 
She  will  but  make  sport  thereat, 

And  more  unrelenting  grow. 


190  Songs  set  by 


What  heart  can  long,  such  pains  abide  ? 

Fie  upon  this  love  ! 
I  would  adventure  far  and  wide, 

If  it  would  remove. 
But  Love  will  still  my  steps  pursue, 
I  cannot,  his  ways  eschew  : 

Thus,  still  helpless,  hopes  I  prove. 

I  do  my  love  in  lines  commend, 

But,  alas,  in  vain  ; 
The  costly  gifts,  that  I  do  send, 

She  returns  again : 
Thus  still  is  my  despair  procured, 
And  her  malice  more  assured. 

Then  come  Death,  and  end  my  pain  I 


Hat  is  a  day,  what  is  a  year 
Of  vain  delight  and  pleasure  ? 

Like  to  a  dream,  it  endless  dies, 
And  from  us  like  a  vapour  flies  : 

And  this  is  all  the  fruit  that  we  find, 
Which  glory  in  worldly  treasure. 

He  that  will  hope  for  true  delight, 
With  virtue  must  be  graced  ; 

Sweet  folly  yields  a  bitter  taste, 
Which  ever  will  appear  at  last : 

But  if  we  still  in  virtue  delight, 
Our  souls  are  in  heaven  placed. 


Ind  in  unkindness,  when  will  you  relent  ? 

And  cease  with  faint  love,  true  love  to  torment  ? 

Still  entertained  ;  excluded  still  I  stand. 

Her  glove  still  hold,  but  cannot  touch  the  hand. 


Philip  Rosseter. 


191 


In  her  fair  hand,  my  hopes  and  comforts  rest : 
O  might  my  fortunes,  with  that  hand  be  blest ! 
No  envious  breaths  then  my  deserts  could  shake  ; 
For  they  are  good,  whom  such,  true  love  doth  make. 

O  let  not  beauty  so  forget  her  birth, 
That  it  should  fruitless  home  return  to  earth  ! 
Love  is  the  fruit  of  beauty,  then  love  one  ! 
Not  your  sweet  self !  for  such  self-love  is  none. 

Love  one  that  only  lives  in  loving  you  ! 
Whose  wronged  deserts,  would  you  with  pity  view ; 
This  strange  distaste  which  your  affection  sways, 
Would  relish  love  :  and  you  find  better  days. 

Thus  till  my  happy  sight  your  beauty  views  ! 
Whose  sweet  remembrance  still  my  hope  renews  : 
Let  these  poor  lines  solicit  love  for  me  ! 
And  place  my  joys,  where  my  desires  would  be  ! 


Hat  then  is  love,  but  mourning  ? 

What  desire,  but  a  self-burning, 
Till  she,  that  hates,  doth  love  return  ? 
Thus  will  I  mourn,  thus  will  I  sing, 

"  Come  away  !  come  away,  my  darling  ! " 


Beauty  is  but  a  blooming, 

Youth  in  his  glory  entombing  ; 
Time  hath  a  while,  which  none  can  stay  : 
Then  come  away,  while  thus  I  sing, 

"  Come  away  !  come  away,  my  darling  !  " 


192  Songs  set  by  Philip  Rosseter. 

Summer,  in  winter  fadeth  ; 

Gloomy  night,  heavenly  light  shadeth  : 
Like  to  the  morn,  are  Venus'  flowers  ; 
Such  are  her  hours  !     Then  will  I  sing, 
"  Come  away  !  come  away,  my  darling!  " 


Hether  men  do  laugh  or  weep, 
Whether  they  do  wake  or  sleep, 
Whether  they  die  young  or  old, 
Whether  they  feel  heat  or  cold  ; 
There  is,  underneath  the  sun, 
Nothing,  in  true  earnest  done. 


All  our  pride  is  but  a  jest ; 
None  are  worst,  and  none  are  best ; 
Grief  and  joy,  and  hope  and  fear. 
Play  their  pageants  everywhere. 
Vain  opinion  all  doth  sway ; 
And  the  World  is  but  a  Play, 

Powers  above  in  clouds  do  sit, 
Mocking  our  poor  apish  wit ; 
That  so  lamely,  with  such  state, 
Their  high  glory  imitate. 
No  ill  can  be  felt,  but  pain  ; 
And  that,  happy  men  disdain. 

FINIS. 


^ 


i93 


Two    Book?    of    A i r  3  . 

I.     Divine    and    JV1  0  r  a  l    Sonq?, 

II.     J_(iQHT    Conceit?    of    J^over?, 

BY 

Thomas   Campion,    M.D. 

To   the   Right   Honourable^   both   in 
birth  and  virtue^    Francis, 

Earl  Of  C  UMBERLAND. 

Hat  patron  could  I  choose,  great  Lord  !  but  you  ? 
Grave  words,  your  years  may  challenge  as  their 
own  : 
And  every  note  of  music  is  your  due, 
Whose  house,  the  Muses'  Palace  I  have  known. 

To  love  and  cherish  them,  though  it  descends, 
With  many  honours  more,  on  you  in  vain  : 

Preceding  fame  herein  with  you  contends, 
Who  hath  both  fed  the  Muses,  and  their  train. 

II  N 


194  To  the  Reader. 

These  leaves  I  offer  you,  Devotion  might, 
Herself,  lay  open.     Read  them  !  or  else  hear 

How  gravely,  with  their  tunes,  they  yield  delight 
To  any  virtuous,  and  not  curious  ear  ! 

Such  as  they  are,  accept  them  !  noble  Lord ! 
If  better,  better  could  my  zeal  afford. 

Your  Honour's, 

Thomas   Campion. 


^ 


To  the   Reader. 

Ut  of  many  Songs  which,  partly  at  the  request  oj 
friends,  partly  for  my  own  recreation,  were  by  me,  long 
since,  composed :  I  have  now  enfranchised  a  few ; 
sending  them  forth,  divided  according  to  their  different 
subjects,  into  several  books.  The  first  are  grave  and  pious :  the 
second,  amorous  and  light.  For  he  that,  in  publishing  any  work, 
hath  a  desire  to  content  all  palates,  must  cater  for  them  accord- 
ingly. 

Non  omnibus  unum  est 
Quod  placet,  hie  spinas  colligit,  ille  rosas. 

These  Airs  were,  for  the  most  part,  framed,  at  first,  for  one  voice 
with  the  lute  or  viol :  but,  upon  occasion,  they  have  since  been 
filled  with  more  parts,  which  whoso  please,  may  use;  who  like 
not,  may  leave.  Yet  do  we  daily  observe,  that  when  any  shall 
sing  Treble  to  an  instrument :  the  standers  by  will  be  offering  at 


To  the  Reader.  195 

an  inward  part  out  of  their  own  nature  ;  and,  true  or  false,  out  it 
must,  though  to  the  perverting  of  the  whole  harmony.  Also,  if 
we  consider  well,  the  Treble  tunes  {which  are  with  us,  commonly 
called  Airs)  are  but  Tenors  mounted  eight  notes  higher;  and 
therefore  an  inward  part  must  needs  well  become  them,  such  as 
may  take  up  the  whole  distance  of  the  diapason,  and  fill  up  the  gaping 
between  the  two  extreme  parts  ;  whereby  though  they  are  not  three 
parts  in  perfection,  yet  they  yield  a  sweetness  and  content,  both  to 
the  ear  and  the  mind;  which  is  the  aim  and  perfection  of  Music. 

Short  A  irs,  if  they  be  skilfully  framed,  and  naturally  expressed, 
are  like  quick  and  good  Epigrams  in  Poesy :  many  of  them 
showing  as  much  artifice,  and  breeding  as  great  difficulty  as  a 
larger  poem. 

Non  omnia  possumus  omnes 

said  the  Roman  Epic  Poet;  but  some  there  are,  who  admit 
only  French  or  Italian  Airs;  as  if  every  country  had  not  his 
proper  Air,  which  the  people  thereof  naturally  usurp  in  their 
music.  Others  taste  nothing  that  comes  forth  in  print;  as  if 
Catullus  or  Martial's  Epigrams  were  the  worse  for  being 
published. 

In  these  English  Airs,  I  have  chiefly  aimed  to  couple  my  words 
and  notes  lovingly  together  ;  which  will  be  much  for  him  to  do, 
that  hath  not  power  over  both.  The  light  of  this,  will  best  appear 
to  him  who  hathpaysed  [weighed]  our  Monosyllables  and  Syllables 
combined :  both  of  which,  are  so  loaded  with  consonants,  as  that 
they  will  hardly  keep  company  with  swift  notes,  or  give  the  vowel 
convenient  liberty. 

To  conclude  ;  my  own  opinion  of  these  Songs,  I  deliver  thus. 

Omnia  nee  nostris  bona  sunt,  sed  nee  mala  libris ; 
Si  placet  hac  cantes,  hac  quoque  lege  legas. 

Farewell, 


196 


Thomas  Campion's 


THE    FIR  ST    BOOK. 

Divine    and    JVIof^al    Sonqs. 


Uthor  of  Light !  revive  my  dying  sprite  I 
Redeem  it  from  the  snares  of  all  confounding 
night  ! 

LORD  !  light  me  to  Thy  blessed  way ! 
For    blind    with   worldly  vain    desires,    I 

wander  as  a  stray. 
Sun  and  moon,  stars  and  under  lights  I  see  ; 
But  all  their  glorious  beams  are  mists  and  darkness,  being 
compared  to  Thee. 

Fountain  of  health  !  my  soul's  deep  wounds  recure  ! 
Sweet  showers  of  pity,  rain  !  wash  my  uncleanness,  pure  ! 

One  drop  of  Thy  desired  grace, 
The  faint  and  fading  heart  can  raise,  and  in  joy's  bosom  place. 

Sin  and  death,  hell  and  tempting  fiends  may  rage  : 
But  GOD,  His  own  will  guard ;  and  their  sharp  pains  and 
grief,  in  time,  assuage. 

Here  are  all  thy  beauties  now,  all  hearts  enchain- 
ing? 
Whither  are    thy  flatterers   gone,    with    all    their 
feigning  ? 
All  fled  !  and  thou,  alone,  still  here  remaining  ! 

Thy  rich  state  of  twisted  gold  to  bays  is  turned  ! 
Cold,  as  thou  art,  are  thy  loves  ;  that  so  much  burned  ! 
Who  die  in  flatterers'  arms,  are  seldom  mourned. 


Divine  and  Moral  Songs. 


197 


Yet,  in  spite  of  envy,  this  be  still  proclaimed, 

That  none  worthier  than  thyself,  thy  worth  hath  blamed  ; 

When  their  poor  names  are  lost,  thou  shalt  live  famed ! 

When  thy  story,  long  time  hence,  shall  be  perused; 
Let  the  blemish  of  thy  rule  be  thus  excused, 
"  None  ever  lived  more  just,  none  more  abused." 


Ut   of  my  soul's    depth,  to  Thee  !  my  cries  have 

sounded. 
Let   Thine   ears,  my  plaints  receive  !   on  just  fear 
grounded. 

LORD  !    shouldst  Thou  weigh  our  faults,  who's   not   con- 
founded ? 

But,  with  grace,  Thou  censurest  thine  !  when  they  have  erred, 
Therefore  shall  Thy  blessed  Name  be  loved  and  feared. 
Even  to  Thy  throne  !  my  thoughts  and  eyes  are  reared. 

Thee,  alone  !  my  hopes  attend  ;  on  Thee  !  relying. 
In  Thy  sacred  word!  I'll  trust :    to  Thee  !  fast  flying, 
Long  ere  the  watch  shall  break,  the  morn  descrying. 

In  the  mercies  of  our  GOD,  who  live  secured, 
May  of  full  redemption  rest  in  Him  assured ; 
Their  sin-sick  souls,  by  Him  shall  be  recured. 


Iew  me,  LORD  !  a  work  of  Thine. 
Shall  I  then  lie  drowned  in  night  ? 
Might  Thy  grace  in  me  but  shine ! 
I  should  seem  made  all  of  light. 

But  my  soul  still  surfeits  so, 
On  the  poisoned  baits  of  sin ; 
That  I  strange  and  ugly  grow. 
All  is  dark  and  foul  within. 


198  Thomas  Campion's 

Cleanse  me,  LORD  !  that  I  may  kneel 
At  thine  altar,  pure  and  white. 
They  that,  once,  Thy  mercies  feel ; 
Gaze  no  more  on  earth's  delight. 

Worldly  joys,  like  shadows,  fade, 
When  the  heavenly  light  appears  : 
But  the  covenants  Thou  hast  made 
Endless ;  know  nor  days,  nor  years. 

In  Thy  Word,  LORD  !  is  my  trust. 
To  Thy  mercies,  fast  I  fly  ! 
Though  I  am  but  clay  and  dust ; 
Yet  Thy  grace  can  lift  me  high  ! 


Ravely  decked  ;  come  forth,  bright  Day ! 
Thine  Hours,  with  roses,  strew  thy  way ; 

As  they  well  remember. 
Thou  received  shalt  be,  with  feasts  ! 
Come,  chiefest  of  the  British  guests, 

Thou  Fifth  of  November  ! 
Thou,  with  triumph,  shalt  exceed, 

In  the  strictest  Ember  ; 
For,  by  thy  return,  the  LORD  records  His  blessed  deed. 

Britons  !  frolic  at  your  board  ! 

But,  first,  sing  praises  to  the  LORD, 

In  your  congregations. 
He  preserved  your  State  alone, 
His  loving  grace  hath  made  you  one 

Of  his  chosen  nations. 
But  this  light  must  hallowed  be 

With  your  blest  oblations  : 
Praise  the  LORD  !  for  only  great  and  merciful  is  He. 


Divine  and  Moral  Songs.  199 

Death  had  entered  in  the  gate, 
And  Ruin  was  crept  near  the  State ; 

But  Heaven  all  revealed. 
Fiery  powder,  hell  did  make, 
Which  ready  long  the  flame  to  take, 

Lay,  in  shade  concealed. 
GOD  us  helped,  of  His  free  grace  : 

None  to  Him  appealed  ; 
For  none  was  so  bad,  to  fear  the  treason,  or  the  place. 

GOD,  His  peaceful  monarch  chose, 
To  Him,  the  mist  He  did  disclose, 

To  Him,  and  none  other: 
This  He  did,  0  King!  for  thee, 
That  thou,  thine  own  renown  mightest  see, 

Which  no  time  can  smother. 
May  blest  Charles,  thy  comfort  be, 

Firmer  than  his  brother.  [thee  ! 

May  his  heart,  the  love  of  peace  and  wisdom  learn  of 


0  music  bent,  is  my  retired  mind, 

And  fain  would  I,  some  Song  of  Pleasure  sing 

But  in  vain  joys,  no  comfort  now  I  find : 

From  heavenly  thoughts,  all  true  delight  doth  spring. 

Thy  power,  O  GOD  !  Thy  mercies,  to  record; 

Will  sweeten  every  note,  and  every  word. 

All  earthly  pomp  or  beauty  to  express, 

Is  but  to  carve  in  snow ;  on  waves  to  write. 

Celestial  things,  though  men  conceive  them  less, 

Yet  fullest  are  they  in  themselves  of  light. 

Such  beams  they  yield,  as  know  no  means  to  die  5 

Such  heat  they  cast,  as  lifts  the  spirit  high. 


200 


Thomas  Campion's 


Une  thy  music  to  thy  heart, 

Sing  joy  with  thanks,  and  so  thy  sorrow  : 

Though  Devotion  needs  not  Art, 
Sometimes  of  the  poor,  the  rich  may  borrow. 

Strive  not  yet  for  curious  ways  : 
Concord  pleaseth  more,  the  less  'tis  strained  ; 

Zeal  affects  not  outward  praise, 
Only  strives  to  show  a  love  unfeigned. 

Love  can  wondrous  things  effect, 
Sweetest  sacrifice,  all  wrath  appeasing ; 

Love,  the  Highest  doth  respect, 
Love  alone,  to  Him  is  ever  pleasing. 

Ost  sweet  and  pleasing  are  thy  ways,  O  GOD  ! 

Like    meadows  decked  with   crystal   streams,    and 
flowers. 

'Thy  paths,  no  foot  profane  hath  ever  trod  I 
Nor  hath  the  proud  man  rested  in  Thy  bowers  ! 
There,  lives  no  vulture,  no  devouring  bear : 
But  only  doves  and  lambs  are  harboured  there. 

The  wolf  his  young  ones,  to  their  prey  doth  guide  ; 
The  fox  his  cubs,  with  false  deceit  endues ; 
The  lion's  whelp  sucks  from  his  dam,  his  pride  i 
In  hers,  the  serpent,  malice  doth  infuse : 
The  darksome  desert  all  such  beasts  contains: 
Not  one  of  them  in  Paradise  remains. 


Ise  men,  patience  never  want; 
Good  men,  pity  cannot  hide : 
Feeble  spirits  only  vaunt 
Of  revenge,  the  poorest  pride. 
He  alone,  forgive  that  can, 
Bears  the  true  soul  of  a  man. 


Divine  and  Moral  Songs.  201 

Some  there  are,  debate  that  seek  : 
Making  trouble  their  content : 
Happy  if  they  wrong  the  meek, 
Vex  them  that,  to  peace  are  bent : 
Such  undo  the  common  tie 
Of  mankind,  Society. 

Kindness  grown  is,  lately,  cold  ; 
Conscience  hath  forgot  her  part: 
Blessed  times  were  known  of  old, 
Long  ere  Law  became  an  Art. 
Shame  deterred,  not  Statutes  then ; 
Honest  love  was  law  to  men. 

Deeds  from  love,  and  words  that  flowt 
Foster  like  kind  April  showers  : 
In  the  warm  sun,  all  things  grow, 
Wholesome  fruits  and  pleasant  flowers. 
All,  so  thrives  his  gentle  rays, 
Whereon  human  love  displays. 


[SEver  weather-beaten  sail  more  willing  bent  to  shore, 

Never  tired  pilgrim's  limbs  affected  slumber  more; 
^  Than  my  wearied  sprite  now  longs  to  fly  out  of  my 
troubled  breast. 
O  come  quickly,  sweetest   LORD  !  and  take  my  soul  to 
rest ! 

Ever  blooming  are  the  joys  of  heaven's  high  Paradise, 
Cold  age  deafs  not  there  our  ears,  nor  vapour  dims  our  eyes  : 
Glory  there,  the  sun  outshines  ;  whose  beams  the  Blessed  only 
see. 
O  come  quickly,  glorious  LORD!    and  raise  my  sprite  tc 
Thee! 


202  Thomas  Campion's 


Ift  up  to  heaven,  sad  wretch  !  thy  heavy  sprite  ! 
What  though  thy  sins,  thy  due  destruction  threat  ? 
The  LORD  exceeds  in  mercy,  as  in  might. 
His  ruth  is  greater,  though  thy  crimes  be  great. 
Repentance  needs  not  fear  the  heaven's  just  rod, 
It  stays,  even  thunder,  in  the  hand  of  GOD. 

With  cheerful  voice  to  Him,  then  cry  for  grace ! 
Thy  Faith,  thy  fainting  Hope,  with  Prayer  revive  ; 
Remorse  for  all  that  truly  mourn  hath  place ; 
Not  GOD,  but  men,  of  Him  themselves  deprive : 
Strive  then  !  and  He  will  help  :  call  Him  !  He'll  hear, 
The  son  needs  not  the  father's  fuiy  fear. 


O,  when  back  mine  eye, 

Pilgrim-like,  I  cast, 
What  fearful  ways  I  spy, 
Which,  blinded,  I  securely  past ! 

But  now  heaven  hath  drawn 

From  my  brows,  that  night ; 
As  when  the  day  doth  dawn, 
So  clears  my  long  imprisoned  sight. 

Straight  the  Caves  of  Hell, 

Dressed  with  flowers  I  see : 
Wherein  False  Pleasures  dwell, 
That,  winning  most,  most  deadly  be. 

Throngs  of  masked  fiends, 
Winged  like  angels,  fly. 
Even  in  the  gates  of  friends. 
In  fair  disguise,  black  dangers  lie. 


'/ 


Divine  and  Moral  Songs.  203 

Straight  to  heaven  I  raised, 

My  restored  sight : 
And,  with  loud  voice,  I  praised 
The  LORD  of  ever-during  light. 

And  since  I  had  strayed 

From  His  ways,  so  wide : 
His  grace  I  humbly  prayed, 
Henceforth  to  be  my  guard  and  guide. 


S  by  the  streams  of  Babylon, 
Far  from  our  native  soil  we  sat ; 
Sweet  Sion  !  thee  we  thought  upon, 
And  every  thought  a  tear  begat. 

Aloft  the  trees,  that  spring  up  there, 
Our  silent  harps  we  pensive  hung. 
Said  they  that  captived  us,  "  Let's  hear 
Some  song,  which  you  in  Sion  sung ! " 

Is  then  the  song  of  our  GOD  fit 
To  be  profaned  in  foreign  land  ? 
O  Salem  !  thee  when  I  forget, 
Forget  his  skill  may  my  right  hand  ! 

Fast  to  the  roof,  cleave  may  my  tongue, 
If  mindless  I,  of  thee  be  found  ! 
Or  if,  when  all  my  joys  are  sung, 
Jerusalem  be  not  the  "  ground." 

Remember,  LORD!  how  Edom's  race 
Cried,  in  Jerusalem's  sad  day ; 
Hurled  down  her  walls,  her  towers  deface. 
And,  stone  by  stone,  all  level  lay. 


204  Thomas  Campion's 

Curst  Babel's  seed  !  For  Salem's  sake, 
Just  ruin,  yet,  for  thee  remains ! 
Blest  shall  they  be,  thy  babes  that  take ; 
And  'gainst  the  stones,  dash  out  their  brains ! 


Ing  a  song  of  joy  ! 

Praise  our  GOD  with  mirth ! 
His  flock,  who  can  destroy  ? 
Is  He  not  LORD  of  heaven  and  earth? 

Sing  we  then  secure  ! 

Tuning  well  our  strings  ; 
With  voice,  as  echo  pure, 
Let  us  renown  the  King  of  Kings ! 

First,  Who  taught  the  day 

From  the  East  to  rise; 
Whom  doth  the  sun  obey, 
When,  in  the  seas,  his  glories  dies  ? 

He  the  stars  directs 

That,  in  order,  stand  : 
Who,  heaven  and  earth  protects; 
But  He  that  framed  them  with  His  hand  ? 

Angels  round  attend, 

Waiting  on  His  will. 
Armed  millions,  He  doth  send 
To  aid  the  good,  or  plague  the  ill. 

All  that  dread  His  name, 
And  His  'hests  observe; 
His  arm  will  shield  from  shame : 
Their  steps  from  truth  shall  never  swerve. 


Divine  and  Moral  Songs.  205 

Let  us  then  rejoice ! 

Sounding  loud  His  praise  : 
So  will  He  hear  our  voice  ; 
And  bless,  on  earth,  our  peaceful  days. 


Wake  !  awake !  thou  heavy  sprite, 
That  sleep'st  the  deadly  sleep  of  sin  ! 
Rise  now  !  and  walk  the  ways  of  light ! 
'Tis  not  too  late  yet  to  begin. 

Seek  heaven,  early  !  seek  it,  late  ! 

True  Faith  still  finds  an  open  gate. 

Get  up  !  get  up  !  thou  leaden  man  1 
Thy  track  to  endless  joy  or  pain, 
Yields  but  the  model  of  a  span ; 
Yet  burns  out  thy  life's  lamp  in  vain ! 

One  minute  bounds  thy  bane,  or  bliss: 
Then  watch  and  labour,  while  time  is 


Ome  cheerful  day!  part  of  my  life,  to  me : 

For  while  thou  view'st  me,  with  thy  fading  light ; 

Part  of  my  life  doth  still  depart  with  thee  ! 

And  I  still  onward  haste  to  my  last  night. 
Time's  fatal  wings  do  ever  forward  fly: 
So,  every  day  we  live,  a  day  we  die. 

But  O  ye  nights !  ordained  for  barren  rest, 
How  are  my  days  deprived  of  life  in  you  ! 
When  heavy  sleep,  my  soul  hath  dispossest, 
By  feigned  death,  life  sweetly  to  renew. 
Part  of  my  life  in  that,  you  life  deny  1 
So,  every  day  we  live,  a  day  we  die. 


206  Thomas  Campion's 

Eek  the  LORD  !  and  in  His  ways  persever! 

O  faint  not!  but,  as  eagles,  fly ! 

For  His  steep  hill  is  high  : 
Then  striving,  gain  the  top,  and  triumph  ever! 

When,  with  glory,  there,  thy  brows  are  crowned  ; 

New  joys  so  shall  abound  in  thee ! 

Such  sights,  thy  soul  shall  see ; 
That  worldly  thoughts  shall,  by  their  beams  be  drowned. 

Farewell,  World  !  thou  mass  of  mere  confusion  I 
False  Light,  with  many  shadows  dimmed  ! 
Old  Witch,  with  new  foils  trimmed  ! 

Thou  deadly  Sleep  of  Soul,  and  charmed  Illusion  ! 

I,  the  King  will  seek !  Of  Kings  adored. 

Spring  of  light !     Tree  of  grace  and  bliss  ! 

Whose  fruit  so  sovereign  is  ; 
That  all  who  taste  it,  are  from  death  restored. 

Ighten,  heavy  heart !  thy  sprite  ! 
The  joys  recall,  that  thence  are  fled  ! 
Yield  thy  breast  some  living  light ! 

The  man  that  nothing  doth,  is  dead. 
Tune  thy  temper  to  these  sounds  ; 

And  quicken  so,  thy  joyless  mind! 
Sloth,  the  worst  and  best  confounds : 

It  is  the  ruin  of  mankind. 

From  her  cave,  rise  all  distastes, 

Which  unresolved  Despair  pursues  ; 
Whom,  soon  after,  Violence  hastes 
Herself,  ungrateful,  to  abuse. 
Skies  are  cleared  with  stirring  winds. 
Th'unmoved  water  moorish  grows. 
Every  eye  much  pleasure  finds, 

To  view  a  stream  that  brightly  flows. 


- 


Divine  and  Moral  Songs.  20; 

Ack  and  Joan,  they  think  no  ill, 

But  loving  live,  and  merry  still ; 

Do  their  week-days'  work,  and  pray 

Devoutly  on  the  holy  day : 

Skip  and  trip  it  on  the  green, 

And  help  to  choose  the  Summer  Queen; 

Lash  out,  at  a  country  feast, 

Their  silver  penny  with  the  best. 

Well  can  they  judge  of  nappy  ale, 

And  tell,  at  large,  a  winter  tale  ; 

Climb  up  to  the  apple  loft, 

And  turn  the  crabs  till  they  be  soft. 

Tib  is  all  the  father's  joy, 

And  little  Tom,  the  mother's  boy. 

All  their  pleasure,  is  Content  ; 

And  Care,  to  pay  their  yearly  rent. 

Joan  can  call,  by  name,  her  cows, 
And  deck  her  windows  with  green  boughs ; 
She  can,  wreathes  and  tuttyes  make, 
And  trim  with  plums  a  bridal  cake. 
Jack  knows  what  brings  gain  or  loss  ; 
And  his  long  flail  can  stoutly  toss  : 
Makes  the  hedge,  which  others  break ; 
And  ever  thinks,  what  he  doth  speak. 

Now,  you  Courtly  Dames  and  Knights ! 
That  study  only  strange  delights  ; 
Though  you  scorn  the  homespun  gray, 
And  revel  in  your  rich  array  : 
Though  your  tongues  dissemble  deep, 
And  can  your  heads  from  danger  keep  : 
Yet,  for  all  your  pomp  and  train, 
Securer  lives  the  silly  swain. 


2o8  Thomas  Campion's 


Ll  looks  be  pale,  hearts  cold  as  stone, 
For  Hally  now  is  dead,  and  gone ! 

Hally,  in  whose  sight, 
Most  sweet  sight ! 

All  the  earth  late  took  delight. 
Every  eye,  weep  with  me ! 
Joys  drowned  in  tears  must  be. 


His  ivory  skin,  his  comely  hair, 
His  rosy  cheeks,  so  clear  and  fair  : 

Eyes  that  once  did  grace 
His  bright  face, 

Now  in  him,  all  want  their  place. 
Eyes  and  hearts  weep  with  me! 
For  who  so  kind  as  he  ? 


His  youth  was  like  an  April  flower, 
Adorned  with  beauty,  love,  and  power. 

Glory  strewed  his  way  ; 
Whose  wreathes  gay, 

Now  are  all  turned  to  decay. 
Then,  again,  weep  with  me  ! 
None  feel  more  cause  than  we. 


No  more  may  his  wished  sight  return, 
His  golden  lamp  no  more  can  burn. 

Quenched  is  all  his  flame. 
His  hoped  fame, 

Now,  hath  left  him  nought  but  name. 
For  him,  all  weep  with  me  ! 
Since  more,  him  none  shall  see. 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers. 


209 


To  the  Right  Noble  and  Virtuous  Henry, 
Lord  C lifford  j  son  and  heir  to  the  Right 
Honourable  Francis,  Earl  of  Cumberland, 

Uch  days  as  wear  the  badge  of  holy  red, 
Are  for  Devotion  marked  and  Sage  Delight ; 

The  vulgar  Low-days  undistinguished, 
Are  left  for  Labour,  Games,  and  Sportful  Sights. 

This  several  and  so  differing  use  of  time, 
Within  th'enclosure  of  one  week  we  find ; 

Which  I  resemble  in  my  Notes  and  Rhyme, 
Expressing  both  in  their  peculiar  kind. 

Pure  Hymns,  such  as  the  Seventh  Day  loves,  do  lead  ; 
Grave  age  did  justly  challenge  those  of  me  : 

These  Weekday  Works,  in  order  that  succeed, 
Your  youth  best  fits  !  and  yours,  young  Lord  !  they  be  ! 
As  he  is,  who  to  them,  their  being  gave  ; 
If  th'one,  the  other  you,  of  force,  must  have. 
Your  Honour's 

Thomas    Campion. 


To  the   Reader. 

HAT  holy  Hymns,  with  lovers'  Cares  are  knit, 
Both  in  one  quire  here  ;  Thou  may  est  think' t  unfit ! 
Why  dost  not  blame  the  Stationer  as  well, 
Who,  in  the  same  shop,  sets  all  sorts  to  sell  ? 
Divine  with  styles  Profane,  Grave  shelved  with  Vain, 
A  nd  some  matched  worse.     Yet,  none  of  him  complain  ! 
II  O 


2IO 


Thomas  Campion's 


THE    SECOND    BOOK. 


J^iqht    Conceit?    of    JL^ovefj?. 


[|Ain   men  !    whose   follies    make   a   god   of 

love  ; 
Whose   blindness,   beauty    doth   immortal 

deem. 
Praise  not  what  you  desire,  but  what  you 


prove 


Count  those  things  good,  that  are  ;  not  those 
that  seem  ! 
I  cannot  call  her  true,  that's  false  to  me  ; 
Nor  make  of  women,  more  than  women  be. 

How  fair  an  entrance  breaks  the  way  to  love  ! 
How  rich  of  golden  hope,  and  gay  delight ! 
What  heart  ?  cannot  a  modest  beauty  move  ! 
Who  seeing  clear  day,  once,  will  dream  of  night  ? 
She  seemed  a  saint,  that  brake  her  faith  with  me  ; 
But  proved  a  women,  as  all  other  be. 

So  bitter  is  their  sweet,  that  True  Content, 

Unhappy  men,  in  them  may  never  find  : 

Ah  !  but  without  them,  none.     Both  must  consent, 

Else  uncouth  are  the  joys  of  either  kind. 

Let  us  then  praise  their  good,  forget  their  ill ! 

Men  must  be  men  ;  and  women,  women  still. 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  2 1 1 


|H1 


Ow  eas'ly  wert  thou  chained, 
Fond  heart !  by  favours  feigned  ? 
Why  lived  thy  hopes  in  grace, 
Straight  to  die  disdained? 
But  since  th'art,  now,  beguiled 
By  love,  that  falsely  smiled  : 
In  some  less  happy  place, 
Mourn  alone  exiled  ! 
My  love  still  here  increaseth, 
And  with  my  love,  my  grief; 
While  her  sweet  bounty  ceaseth, 
That  gave  my  woes  relief. 
Yet  'tis  no  woman  leaves  me, 
For  such  may  prove  unjust ; 
A  goddess  thus  deceives  me  ! 
Whose  faith,  who  could  mistrust? 


A  goddess  so  much  graced, 

That  Paradise  is  placed 

In  her  most  heav'nly  breast, 

Once  by  Love  embraced. 

But  Love,  that  so  kind  proved, 

Is  now  from  her  removed  : 

Nor  will  he  longer  rest, 

Where  no  faith  is  loved. 

If  powers  celestial  wound  us, 

And  will  not  yield  relief; 

Woe  then  must  needs  confound  us. 

For  none  can  cure  our  grief. 

No  wonder  if  I  languish, 

Through  burden  of  my  smart. 

It  is  no  common  anguish, 

From  Paradise  to  part ! 


212 


Thomas  Campion's 


Arden,  now,  thy  tired  heart,  with  more  than  flinty 
rage ! 
iNe'er  let  her  false  tears,  henceforth,  thy  constant  grief 
assuage ! 
Once,  true  happy  days  thou  saw'st,  when  she  stood  firm  and 

kind, 
Both  as  one,  then,  lived  ;  and  held  one  ear,  one  tongue,  one 

mind. 
But,  now,  those  bright  hours  be  fled,  and  never  may  return ; 
What  then  remains,  but  her  untruths  to  mourn  ! 


Silly  Trait'ress  !  Who  shall,  now,  thy  careless  tresses  place  ? 
Who,  thy  pretty  talk  supply  ?  Whose  ear,  thy  music  grace  ? 
Who  shall  thy  bright  eyes  admire  ?  What  lips,  triumph  with 

thine? 
Day  by  day,  who'll  visit  thee,  and  say  "Th'art  only  mine !  " 
Such  a  time  there  was,  GOD  wot !  but  such  shall  never  be. 
Too  oft,  I  fear,  thou  wilt  remember  me  I 


What  unhoped  for  sweet  supply ! 

O  what  joys  exceeding  ! 
What  an  affecting  charm,  feel  I, 

From  delight  proceeding ! 
That  which  I  long  despaired  to  be; 

To  her  I  am,  and  she  to  me. 


She  that,  alone  in  cloudy  grief, 

Long  to  me  appeared  : 
She  now  alone,  with  bright  relief, 

All  those  clouds  hath  cleared. 
Both  are  immortal  and  divine  : 

Since  I  am  hers,  and  she  is  mine. 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  213 

Here  she,  her  sacred  bower  adorns, 

The  rivers  clearly  flow  ; 
I  The  groves  and  meadows  swell  with  flowers, 

The  winds  all  gently  blow. 
Her  sun-like  beauty  shines  so  fair ; 

Her  spring  can  never  fade. 
Who  then  can  blame  the  life  that  strives 

To  harbour  in  her  shade  ? 

Her  grace  I  sought,  her  love  I  wooed, 

Her  love  though  I  obtain  ; 
No  time,  no  toil,  no  vow,  no  faith, 

Her  wished  grace  can  gain. 
Yet  truth  can  tell  my  heart  is  hers  ; 

And  her,  will  I  adore  ! 
And  from  that  love  when  I  depart, 

Let  heaven  view  me  no  more  ! 

Her  roses,  with  my  prayers  shall  spring, 

And  when  her  trees  I  praise  : 
Their  bows  shall  blossom,  mellow  fruit, 

Shall  straw  her  pleasant  ways. 
The  words  of  hearty  zeal  have  power 

High  wonders  to  effect ; 
O  why  should  then  her  princely  ear 

My  words  or  zeal  neglect  ? 

If  she  my  faith  misdeems,  or  worth  ; 

Woe  worth  my  hapless  fate  ! 
For  though  time  can  my  truth  reveal, 

That  time  will  come  too  late. 
And  who  can  glory  in  the  worth, 

That  cannot  yield  him  grace  ? 
Content,  in  every  thing  is  not ; 

Nor  joy  in  every  place. 


2I4  Thomas  Campion's 

But  from  her  bower  of  joy,  since  I 

Must  now  excluded  be ; 
And  she  will  not  relieve  my  cares, 

Which  none  can  help,  but  she : 
My  comfort,  in  her  love  shall  dwell, 

Her  love  lodge  in  my  breast ; 
And  though  not  in  her  bower,  yet  I 

Shall  in  her  temple  rest. 


|Ain  would  I,  my  love  disclose, 
Ask  what  honour  might  deny; 
But  both  love  and  her  I  lose, 
From  my  motion,  if  she  fly. 
Worse  than  pain  is  fear  to  me, 
Then  hold  in  fancy,  though  it  burn ! 
If  not  happy,  safe  I'll  be  ; 
&nd  to  my  cloistered  cares  return. 

Yet,  O  yet,  in  vain  I  strive, 
To  repress  my  schooled  desire ; 
More  and  more  the  flames  revive. 
I  consume  in  mine  own  fire. 
She  would  pity,  might  she  know 
The  harms  that  I  for  her  endure. 
Speak  then  !  and  get  comfort  so, 
A  wound  long  hid,  grows  most  recure. 

Wise  she  is,  and  needs  must  know 
All  th'attempts  that  beauty  moves  : 
Fair  she  is,  and  honoured  so, 
That  she,  sure,  hath  tried  some  loves. 
If  with  love  I  tempt  her  then, 
'Tis  but  her  due  to  be  desired. 
What  would  women  think  of  men, 
If  their  deserts  were  not  admired  ? 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  215 

Women  courted,  have  the  hand 

To  discard  what  they  distaste  : 

But  those  dames,  whom  none  demand, 

Want  oft  what  their  wills  embrace. 

Could  their  firmness  iron  excel, 

As  they  are  fair,  they  should  be  sought : 

When  true  thieves  use  falsehood  well ; 

As  they  are  wise,  they  will  be  caught. 

Tve  beauty  all  her  right ! 

She's  not  to  one  form  tied; 

Each  shape  yields  fair  delight, 

Where  her  perfections  'bide. 
Helen,  I  grant,  might  pleasing  be  ; 
And  Ros'mond  was  as  sweet  as  she. 

Some,  the  quick  eye  commends; 

Some,  smelling  lips  and  red ; 

Pale  looks  have  many  friends, 

Through  sacred  sweetness  bred. 
Meadows  have  flowers,  that  pleasure  move  ; 
Though  roses  are  the  flowers  of  love. 

Free  beauty  is  not  bound 

To  one  unmoved  clime  : 

She  visits  every  ground, 

And  favours  every  time. 
Let  the  old  loves,  with  mine  compare; 
My  Sovereign  is  as  sweet  and  fair ! 

Dear  !  that  I  with  thee  might  live, 
From  human  trace  removed  ! 
Where  jealous  care  might  neither  grieve, 
Yet  each  dote  on  their  loved. 
While  fond  fear  may  colour  find,  love's  seldom  pleased  : 
But,  much  like  a  sick  man's  rest,  it's  soon  diseased. 


216  Thomas  Campion's 

Why  should  our  minds  not  mingle  so, 
When  love  and  faith  are  plighted  : 
That  either  might  the  others  know, 
Alike  in  all  delighted  ? 
Why  should  frailty  breed  suspect,  when  hearts  are  fixed  ? 
Must  all  human  joys,  of  force,  with  grief  be  mixed  ? 

How  oft  have  we,  ev'n,  smiled  in  tears, 

Our  fond  mistrust  repenting? 
As  snow,  when  heavenly  fire  appears, 
So  melt  love's  hate,  relenting. 
Vexed  kindness  soon  falls  off,  and  soon  returneth  : 
Such  a  flame,  the  more  you  quench  the  more  it  burnetb. 


Ood  men,  show  !  if  you  can  tell, 
Where  doth  Human  Pity  dwell  ? 
Far  and  near,  her  I  would  seek, 
So  vext  with  sorrow  is  my  breast. 
"  She,"  they  say,  "  to  all,  is  meek  ; 
And  only  makes  th'unhappy  blest." 

Oh  !  if  such  a  saint  there  be, 
Some  hope  yet  remains  for  me : 
Prayer  or  sacrifice  may  gain 
From  her  implored  grace,  relief; 
To  release  me  of  my  pain, 
Or,  at  the  least,  to  ease  my  grief. 

Young  am  I,  and  far  from  guile, 
The  more  is  my  woe  the  while : 
Falsehood,  with  a  smooth  disguise, 
My  simple  meaning  hath  abused  : 
Casting  mists  before  mine  eyes, 
By  which  my  senses  are  confused. 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  2 1 7 

Fair  he  is,  who  vowed  to  me, 

That  he  only  mine  would  be  ; 

But,  alas,  his  mind  is  caught 

With  every  gaudy  bait  he  sees  : 

And,  too  late,  my  flame  is  taught, 

That  too  much  kindness  makes  men  freeze. 

From  me,  all  my  friends  are  gone, 
While  I  pine  for  him  alone ; 
And  not  one  will  rue  my  case, 
But  rather  my  distress  deride  : 
That  I  think,  there  is  no  place, 
Where  Pity  ever  yet  did  bide. 


Hat  harvest  half  so  sweet  is, 
As  still  to  reap  the  kisses 
|i     Grown  ripe  in  sowing  ? 
And  straight  to  be  receiver 
Of  that,  which  thou  art  giver  ! 

Rich  in  bestowing  ? 
Kiss  then,  my  Harvest  Queen ! 

Full  garners  heaping, 
Kisses,  ripest  when  th'are  green, 

Want  only  reaping. 

The  dove  alone  expresses, 
Her  fervency  in  kisses  ; 

Of  all,  most  loving. 
A  creature  as  offenceless, 
As  those  things  that  are  senseless 

And  void  of  moving. 
Let  us  so  love  and  kiss ! 

Though  all  envy  us  : 
That  which  kind,  and  harmless  is  ; 

None  can  deny  us  1 


218  Thomas  Campion's 

He  peaceful  western  wind, 

The  winter  storms  hath  tamed ; 

And  Nature,  in  each  kind, 

The  kind  heat  hath  inflamed. 
The  forward  buds  so  sweetly  breathe 

Out  of  their  earthly  bowers  : 
That  heaven,  which  views  their  pomp  beneath, 

Would  fain  be  decked  with  flowers. 

See  how  the  Morning  smiles, 

On  her  bright  eastern  hill ! 

And,  with  soft  steps,  beguiles 

Them  that  lie  slumbering  still. 
The  music-loving  birds  are  come 

From  cliffs  and  rocks  unknown ; 
To  see  the  trees  and  briars  bloom, 

That,  late,  were  overflown. 

What  Saturn  did  destroy, 

Love's  Queen  revives  again; 

And  now  her  naked  boy 

Doth  in  the  fields  remain  : 
Where  he  such  pleasing  change  doth  view 

In  every  living  thing  ; 
As  if  the  world  were  born  anew, 

To  gratify  the  Spring. 

If  all  things,  life  present, 

Why  die  my  comforts  then  ? 

Why  suffers  my  content  ? 

Am  I  the  worst  of  men  ? 
O  Beauty  !  be  not  thou  accused 

Too  justly  in  this  case  ! 
Unkindly,  if  true  love  be  used  ; 

'Twill  yield  thee  little  grace  ! 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  219 

Here  is  none,  O  none,  but  you, 

That  from  me,  estrange  your  sight : 
Whom  mine  eyes  affect  to  view, 

Or  chained  ears  hear  with  delight. 

Other  beauties,  others  move; 

In  you  !  I  all  graces  find. 
Such  is  the  effect  of  love, 

To  make  them  happy,  that  are  kind. 

Women,  in  frail  beauty  trust, 

Only  seem  you  fair  to  me  ! 
Yet  prove  truly  kind  and  just, 

For  that  may  not  dissembled  be. 

Sweet !  afford  me  then  your  sight, 

That,  surveying  all  your  looks, 
Endless  volumes  I  may  write  ; 

And  fill  the  world  with  envied  books : 

Which,  when  after  ages  view, 

All  shall  wonder  and  despair ; 
Woman  to  find  man  so  true, 

Or  man,  a  woman  half  so  fair. 


0  many  loves  have  I  neglected, 

Whose  good  parts  might  move  me : 
That  now  I  live,  of  all  rejected  ; 

There  is  none  will  love  me. 
Why  is  my  maiden  heat  so  coy  ? 

It  freezeth,  when  it  burneth. 
Loseth  what  it  might  enjoy  ; 

And  having  lost  it,  mourneth. 


220  Thomas  Campion's 

Should  I  then  woo,  that  have  been  wooed ; 

Seeking  them,  that  fly  me? 
When  I  my  faith  with  tears  have  vowed, 

And  when  all  deny  me  ; 
Who  will  pity  my  disgrace, 

Which  love  might  have  prevented  ? 
There  is  no  submission  base, 

Where  error  is  repented. 

0  happy  men  !  whose  hopes  are  licensed 
To  discourse  their  passion  : 

While  women,  are  confined  to  silence, 

Losing  wished  occasion. 
Yet  our  tongues  than  theirs,  men  say, 

Are  apter  to  be  moving. 
Women  are  more  dumb  than  they, 

But  in  their  thoughts  more  moving. 

When  I  compare  my  former  strangeness 
With  my  present  doting; 

1  pity  men,  that  speak  in  plainness, 
Their  true  heart's  devoting  : 

While  we  (with  repentance)  jest 
At  their  submissive  passion. 

Maids,  I  see,  are  never  blest 

That  strange  be,  but  for  fashion. 


Hough  your  strangeness  frets  my  heart, 
Yet  may  not  I  complain  : 
You  persuade  me,  "  'Tis  but  art ! 
That  secret  love  must  fain  ! " 
If  another,  you  affect, 
"  'Tis  but  a  show,  t'avoid  suspect !  " 
Is  this  fair  excusing?  O,  no  !  all  is  abusing! 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  221 

Your  wished  sight,  if  I  desire, 
Suspitious  you  pretend : 
Causeless,  you  yourself  retire; 
While  I,  in  vain,  attend. 
"This,  a  lover  whets,"  you  say, 
"  Still  made  more  eager  by  delay  !  " 
Is  this  fair  excusing  ?  O,  no  !  all  is  abusing ! 

When  another  holds  your  hand, 
You  swear,  "  I  hold  your  heart ! " 
When  my  rivals  close  do  stand, 
And  I  sit  far  apart ; 
"  I  am  nearer  yet,  than  they  ! 
Hid  in  your  bosom !  "  as  you  say. 
Is  this  fair  excusing  ?     O,  no  !  all  is  abusing  1 

Would  my  rival,  then  I  were, 
Some  else  your  secret  friend  : 
So  much  lesser  should  I  fear, 
And  not  so  much  attend. 
They  enjoy  you  !  every  one : 
Yet  I  must  seem  your  friend  alone, 
Is  this  fair  excusing  ?     O,  no  !  all  is  abusing ! 


|Ome  away!  armed  with  love's  delights! 
Thy  spriteful  graces,  bring  with  thee  ! 
[When  love  and  longing  fights, 

They  must  the  sticklers  be.  # 

Come  quickly,  come  !  The  promised  hour  is  well-nigh  spent 
And  pleasure  being  too  much  deferred,  loseth  her  best  content. 


222  Thomas  Campion's 

Is  she  come  ?     O,  how  near  is  she  ! 

How  far  yet  from  this  friendly  place ! 
How  many  steps  from  me  ! 
When  shall  I  her  embrace  ? 
These  arms  I'll  spread,  which  only  at  her  sight  shall  close ; 
Attending,  as  the  starry  flower,  that  the  sun's  noontide  knows. 


Ome,  you  pretty  false-eyed  wanton, 

Leave  your  crafty  smiling  ! 
Think  you  to  escape  me  now, 

With  slipp'ry  words  beguiling? 
No,  you  mocked  me  th'other  day ; 

When  you  got  loose,  you  fled  away ; 
But  since  I  have  caught  you  now, 

I'll  clip  your  wings,  for  flying, 
Smoth'ring  kisses  fast  I'll  heap, 

And  keep  you  so  from  crying. 


Sooner  may  you  count  the  stars, 

And  number  hail,  down  pouring, 
Tell  the  osiers  of  the  Thames, 

Or  Goodwin  sands  devouring: 
Than  the  thick-showered  kisses  here, 

Which  now  thy  tired  lips  must  bear. 
Such  a  harvest  never  was, 

So  rich  and  full  of  pleasure : 
But  'tis  spent  as  soon  as  reaped, 

So  trustless  is  love's  treasure ! 


Light  Conceits  of  Lovers.  22, 

Er  rosy  cheeks,  her  ever-smiling  eyes, 

Are  spheres  and  beds,  where  Love  in  triumph  lies : 

Her  rubine  lips,  when  they,  their  pearl  unlock, 

Make  them  seem,  as  they  did  rise 

All  out  of  one  smooth  coral  rock. 

O  that,  of  other  creatures'  store  I  knew, 

More  worthy,  and  more  rare ; 

For  these  are  old,  and  she  so  new, 

That  her  to  them,  none  should  compare. 

O  could  she  love !     Would  she  but  hear  a  friend ! 

Or  that  she  only  knew  what  sighs  pretend! 

Her  looks  inflame,  yet  cold  as  ice  is  she. 

Do  or  speak,  all's  to  one  end, 

For  what  she  is,  that  will  she  be. 

Yet  will  I  never  cease  her  praise  to  sing, 

Though  she  gives  no  regard. 

For  they  that  grace  a  worthless  thing, 

Are  only  greedy  of  reward. 


Here  shall  I  refuge  seek,  if  you  refuse  me  ? 
In  you,  my  hope  ;  in  you,  my  fortune  lies, 
In  you,  my  life !  though  you  unjust  accuse  me, 
My  service  scorn  !   and  merit  underprize  : 
O  bitter  grief!  that  exile  is  become 
Reward  for  faith ;  and  pity,  deaf  and  dumb. 

Why  should  my  firmness  find  a  seat  so  wav'ring  ? 

My  simple  vows,  my  love  you  entertained  ; 

Without  desert,  the  same  again  disfav'ring  ; 

Yet  I,  my  word  and  passion  hold  unstained. 

O  wretched  me  !  that  my  chief  joy  should  breed 
My  only  grief;  and  kindness,  pity  need. 

FINIS . 


The   Third  and  Fourth 
"Books  of  <Airs. 

By  Thomas   Campion,  M.D. 


n 


226 


The    Thi^d    y\ND    Fourth    Book^   of   ftiRjs, 
By    Thomas    Campion,    M.D. 


To  my  honourable  friend,  Sir 
Thomas  Monson,  Knight  and  Baronet, 

Ince  now  those  clouds,  that  lately  over-cast 
Your  fame  and  fortune,  are  disperst  at  last : 
And  now,  since  all,  to  you  fair  greetings  make ; 
Some  out  of  love,  and  some  for  pity's  sake : 

Shall  I,  but  with  a  common  style,  salute 

Your  new  enlargement !  or  stand  only  mute  ? 

I,  to  whose  trust  and  care  you  durst  commit 

Your  pined  health,  when  art  despaired  of  it  ? 

I,  that,  in  your  affliction,  often  viewed 

In  you,  the  fruits  of  manly  fortitude, 

Patience,  and  even  constancy  of  mind 

That  rock-like  stood,  and  scorned  both  wave  and  wind! 


Dedication.  227 

Should  I,  for  all  your  ancient  love  to  me, 

Endowed  with  weighty  favours,  silent  be  ? 

Your  merits,  and  my  gratitude  forbid 

That  either,  should  in  Lethean  gulf  lie  hid ; 

But  how  shall  I  this  work  of  fame  express  ? 

How  can  I  better,  after  pensiveness, 

Than  with  light  strains  of  Music,  made  to  move 

Sweetly,  with  the  wide  spreading  plumes  of  Love  ? 

These  youth-born  Airs,  then,  prisoned  in  this  book, 

Which  in  your  bowers  much  of  their  being  took ; 

Accept  as  a  kind  offering  from  that  hand, 

Which,  joined  with  heart,  your  virtue  may  command! 

Who  loves  a  sure  friend,  as  all  good  men  do  ; 

Since  such  you  are,  let  those  affect  to  you  ! 

And  may  the  joys  of  that  Crown  never  end, 

That  innocence  doth  pity,  and  defend  ! 

Yours  devoted, 

Thomas   Campion. 


228 


Thomas  Campion's 


The    Third    Book, 


Ft  have  I  sighed,  for  him  that  hears  me  not ; 
Who,  absent,  hath  both  love  and  me  forgot. 
0  yet  I  languish  still,  through  his  delay : 
Days  seem  as  years,  when  wished  friends 
break  their  day. 

Had  he  but  loved,  as  common  lovers  use: 


His  faithless  stay,  some  kindness  would  excuse  : 
O  yet  I  languish  still,  still  constant  mourn 
For  him,  that  can  break  vows,  but  not  return. 


Ow  let  her  change  !  and  spare  not ! 
Since  she  proves  strange,  I  care  not : 
Feigned  love  charmed  so  my  delight, 
That  still  I  doted  on  her  sight. 
But  she  is  gone  !  new  joys  embracing, 
And  my  desires  disgracing. 

When  I  did  err  in  blindness  ? 
Or  vex  her  with  unkindness  ? 
If  my  cares  served  her  alone, 
Why  is  she  thus  untimely  gone  ? 
True  love  abides  to  th'hour  of  dying : 
False  love  is  ever  flying. 


Third  Book  of  Airs.  229 

False  !  then,  farewell  for  ever  ! 
Once  false,  proves  faithful  never : 
He  that  boasts  now  of  thy  love, 
Shall  soon  my  present  fortunes  prove. 
Were  he  as  fair  as  bright  Adonis  ; 
Faith  is  not  had,  where  none  is. 


Ere  my  heart,  as  some  men's  are ;  thy  errors  would 

not  move  me  ; 
But  thy  faults  I  curious  find  and  speak,  because  I  love 

thee : 
Patience  is  a  thing  divine ;  and  far,  I  grant !   above  me. 

Foes  sometimes  befriend  us  more ;  our  blacker  deeds  objecting, 
Than  th'obsequious  bosom  guest,  with  false  respect  affecting. 
Friendship  is  the  Glass  of  Truth,  our  hidden  stains  detecting. 

While  I,  use  of  eyes  enjoy,  and  inward  light  of  reason  ; 
Thy  observer  will  I  be,  and  censor ;  but  in  season : 
Hidden  mischief  to  conceal,  in  State  and  Love,  is  treason. 


"[Aids  are  simple,"  some  men  say, 
I"  They,  forsooth,  will  trust  no  men." 

But  should  they  men's  wills  obey  ; 

Maids  were  very  simple  then. 


Truth,  a  rare  flower  now  is  grown, 
Few  men  wear  it  in  their  hearts  ; 
Lovers  are  more  easily  known, 
By  their  follies  than  deserts. 


230  Thomas  Campion's 

Safer  may  we  credit  give 
To  a  faithless  wandering  Jew  : 
Than  a  young  man's  vows  believe, 
When  he  swears,  "  His  love  is  true! 


Love,  they  make  a  poor  blind  child, 
But  let  none  trust  such  as  he  1 
Rather  than  to  be  beguiled ; 
Ever  let  me  simple  be. 


0  tired  are  all  my  thoughts,  that  sense  and  spirits 

fail. 
Mourning,  I  pine,  and  know  not  what  I  ail. 
O  what  can  yield  ease  to  a  mind, 

Joy  in  nothing,  that  can  find  '( 


How  are  my  powers  fore-spoke?     What  strange  distaste  is 

this? 
Hence  !  cruel  hate  of  that  which  sweetest  is  ! 
Come,  come  delight !  make  my  dull  brain 
Feel  once  heat  of  joy  again. 

The  lover's  tears  are  sweet,  their  mover  makes  them  so  ; 
Proud  of  a  wound,  the  bleeding  soldiers  grow. 
Poor  I,  alone,  dreaming,  endure 

Grief  that  knows  nor  cause,  nor  cure. 

And  whence  can  all  this  grow  ?  Even  from  an  idle  mind, 
That  no  delight  in  any  good  can  find. 
Action,  alone,  makes  the  soul  blest ! 

Virtue  dies,  with  too  much  rest ! 


Third  Book  of  Airs.  231 

Hy  fresumes  thy  pride  on  that,  that  must  so  private 

be? 
Scarce  that  it  can  good  be  called,  though  it  seems 

best  to  thee  ! 
Best  of  all,  that  Nature  framed  or  curious  eye  can  see. 

'Tis  thy  beauty,  foolish  Maid  !  that,  like  a  blossom,  grows ; 
Which,  who  views,  no  more  enjoys  ;  than  on  a  bush  a  rose, 
That,  by  many's  handling,  fades  :  and  thou  art  one  of  these  ! 

If  to  one  thou  shalt  prove  true,  and  all  beside  reject ! 

Then  art  thou  but  one  man's  good  ;  which  yields  a  poor  effect : 

For  the  commonest  good,  by  far,  deserves  the  best  respect. 

But  if  for  this  goodness,  thou  thyself  wilt  common  make; 
Thou  art  then,  not  good  at  all !     So  thou  canst  no  way  take, 
But  to  prove  the  meanest  good,  or  else  all  good  forsake. 

Be  not  then  of  beauty  proud  !  but  so  her  colours  bear, 
That  they  prove  not  stains  to  her,  that  them  for  grace  should 

wear : 
So  shalt  thou,  to  all,  more  fair  than  thou  wert  born  appear ! 


Ind  are  her  answers  : 

But  her  performance  keeps  no  day  ; 

Breaks  time,  as  dancers, 

From  their  own  music,  when  they  stray. 
All  her  free  favours  and  smooth  words> 

Wing  my  hopes  in  vain. 
O  did  ever  voice  so  sweet  but  only  feign  ? 

Can  true  love  yield  such  delay, 

Converting  joy  to  pain  ? 


232  Thomas  Campion's 

Lost  is  our  freedom, 

When  we  submit  to  women  so : 

Why  do  we  need  them, 

When,  in  their  best,  they  work  our  woe  ? 
There  is  no  wisdom 
Can  alter  ends,  by  Fate  prefixt. 

O  why  is  the  good  of  man  with  evil  mixt  ? 
Never  were  days  yet  called  two, 
But  one  night  went  betwixt. 


Grief  !  O  spite  !  to  see  poor  Virtue  scorned, 
Truth  far  exiled,  False  Art  loved,  Vice  adored, 
Free  Justice  sold,  worst  causes  best  adorned, 
Right  cast  by  Power,  Pity  in  vain  implored. 

O  who  in  such  an  age,  could  wish  to  live; 

When  none  can  have  or  hold,  but  such  as  give  ? 

O  times!  O  men  !  to  Nature,  rebels  grown. 
Poor  in  desert ;  in  name,  Rich  ;  Proud  of  shame  ; 
Wise  but  in  ill.    Your  styles  are  not  your  own  ! 
Though  dearly  bought,  Honour  is  honest  fame. 

Old  stories,  only,  goodness  now  contain  ; 

And  the  true  wisdom,  that  is  just  and  plain. 


Never  to  be  moved, 

0  beauty  unrelenting ! 

Hard  heart  !  too  dearly  loved  ! 

Fond  love,  too  late  repenting  ! 
Why  did  I  dream  of  too  much  bliss  ? 
Deceitful  hope  was  cause  of  this. 

O  hear  me  speak  this,  and  no  more, 

"  Live  you  in  joy,  while  I  my  woes  deplore !  " 


Third  Book  of  Airs. 

All  comforts  despaired, 

Distaste  your  bitter  scorning. 
Great  sorrows  unrepaired 

Admit  no  mean  in  mourning: 
Die,  wretch!  since  hope  from  thee  is  fled. 
He  that  must  die,  is  better  dead. 

O  dear  delight !  yet,  ere  I  die, 

Some  pity  show,  though  you  relief  deny  ! 


233 


Reak  now,  my  heart,  and  die  !  O  no,  she  may  relent 
Let  my  despair  prevail !  O  stay,  hope  is  not  spent. 
Should  she  now  fix  one  smile  on  thee,  where  were 
despair? 

The  loss  is  but  easy,  which  smiles  can  repair. 

A  stranger  would  please  thee,  if  she  were  as  fair. 


Her  must  I  love  or  none,  so  sweet  none  breathes  but  she, 
The  more  is  my  despair,  alas,  she  loves  not  me ; 
But  cannot  time  make  way  for  love,  through  ribs  of  steel  ? 
The  Grecian,  enchanted  all  parts  but  the  heel, 
At  last  a  shaft  daunted,  which  his  heart  did  feel. 


F  love  loves  truth,  then  women  do  not  love, 

Their  passions  all  are  but  dissembled  shows. 

Now  kind  and  free  of  favour,  if  they  prove ; 

Their  kindness,  straight,  a  tempest,  overthrows. 
Then  as  a  seaman,  the  poor  lover  fares, 
The  storm  drowns  him,  ere  he  can  drown  his 
cares. 


234  Thomas  Campion's 

But  why  accuse  I  women  that  deceive  ? 
Blame  then,  the  foxes  for  their  subtle  wile  ! 
They  first,  from  Nature,  did  their  craft  receive  : 
It  is  a  woman's  nature  to  beguile. 

Yet  some,  I  grant,  in  loving  steadfast  grow; 

But  such  by  use  are  made,  not  Nature  so. 

0  why  had  Nature  power  at  once  to  frame 
Deceit  and  Beauty,  traitors  both  to  Love  ? 
O  would  Deceit  had  died  !  when  Beauty  came, 
With  her  divineness,  every  heart  to  move. 

Yet  do  we  rather  wish,  whate'er  befall ; 

To  have  fair  women  false,  than  none  at  all. 


i 


Ow  winter  nights  enlarge 
The  number  of  their  hours  ; 
I  And  clouds  their  storms  discharge 
Upon  the  airy  towers. 
Let  now  the  chimneys  blaze, 
And  cups  o'erflow  with  wine, 
Let  well-tuned  words  amaze, 
With  harmony  divine! 
Now  yellow  waxen  lights 
Shall  wait  on  honey  love  ; 

While  youthful  revels,  masques,  and  Courtly  sights, 
Sleep's  leaden  spells  remove. 

This  time  doth  well  dispense, 

With  lovers  long  discourse  ; 
Much  speech  hath  some  defence, 

Though  beauty  no  remorse. 
All  do  not  all  things  well ; 

Some  measures  comely  tread, 
Some  knotted  riddles  tell, 

Some  poems  smoothly  read. 


Third  Book  of  Airs.  235 

The  cummer  hath  his  joys, 

And  winter  his  delights  ; 
Though  love  and  all  his  pleasures  are  but  toys, 

They  shorten  tedious  nights. 


Wake  !  thou  spring  of  speaking  grace  !   Mute  rest 

becomes  not  thee  ! 
The  fairest  women  while  they  sleep,  and  pictures, 

equal  be. 
O  come  and  dwell  in  love's  discourses ! 

Old  renewing,  new  creating. 
The  words  which  thy  rich  tongue  discourses, 
Are  not  of  the  common  rating  ! 

Thy  voice  is  as  an  Echo  clear,  which  Music  doth  beget, 
Thy  speech  is  as  an  Oracle,  which  none  can  counterfeit: 
For  thou  alone,  without  offending, 

Hast  obtained  power  of  enchanting  ! 
And  I  could  hear  thee,  without  ending! 
Other  comfort  never  wanting. 

Some  little  reason,  brutish  lives  with  human  glory  share : 
But  language  is  our  proper  grace,  from  which  they  severed 
are. 

As  brutes  in  reason,  man  surpasses, 

Men  in  speech  excel  each  other : 

If  speech  be  then,  the  best  of  graces, 

Do  it  not,  in  slumber  smother! 


Hat  is  it  all  that  men  possess,  among  themselves 

conversing  ? 
Wealth  or  fame,  or  some  such  boast,  scarce  worthy 
the  rehearsing. 
Women,  only,  are  men's  good  !  with  them  in  love  conversing. 


236  Thomas  Campion's 

If  weary,  they  prepare  us  rest !  If  sick,  their  hand  attends  us  ! 
When  with  grief  our  hearts  are  prest,  their  comfort   best 

befriends  us ! 
Sweet  or  sour,  they  willing  go  to  share,  what  fortune  sends 

us! 

What  pretty  babes  with  pain  they  bear,  our  name  and  form 

presenting ! 
What    we   get,  how   wise   they   keep  !    by   sparing,  wants 

preventing; 
Sorting  all  their  household  cares  to  our  observed  contenting! 

All  this,  of  whose  large  use  I  sing,  in  two  words  is  expressed; 
Good  Wife  is  the  good  I  praise,  if  by  good  men  possessed ; 
Bad  with  bad  in  ill,  suit  well;  but  good  with  good  live  blessed. 


Ire  that  must  flame,  is  with  apt  fuel  fed, 
Flowers  that  will  thrive,  in  sunny  soil  are  bred. 
How  can  a  heart  feel  heat,  that  no  hope  finds  ? 
Or  can  he  love,  on  whom  no  comfort  shines  ? 

Fair  !  I  confess  there's  pleasure  in  your  sight ! 
Sweet !  you  have  power,  I  grant,  of  all  delight  ! 
But  what  is  all  to  me,  if  I  have  none  ? 
Churl,  that  you  are  !  t'enjoy  such  wealth  alone  ! 

Prayers  move  the  heavens,  but  find  no  grace  with  you 

Yet  in  your  looks,  a  heavenly  form  I  view  ! 

Then  will  I  pray  again,  hoping  to  find, 

As  well  as  in  your  looks,  heaven  in  your  mind ! 

Saint  of  my  heart !  Queen  of  my  life  and  love  ! 
O  let  my  vows,  thy  loving  spirit  move  ! 
Let  me  no  longer  mourn,  through  thy  disdain  ! 
But  with  one  touch  of  grace,  cure  all  my  pain  ! 


Third  Book  of  Airs.  237 

F  thou  longest  so  much  to  learn,  sweet  boy !  what 

'tis  to  love : 
Do  but  fix  thy  thought  on  me,  and  thou  shalt  quickly 

prove  ! 
Little  suit,  at  first,  shall  win 

Way  to  thy  abashed  desire  ! 
But  then,  will  I  hedge  thee  in, 
Salamander-like,  with  fire  ! 


With  thee,  dance  I  will,  and  sing,  and  thy  fond  dalliance 

bear ! 
We,  the  grovy  hills  will  climb,  and  play  the  wantons  there  ! 
Other  whiles  we'll  gather  flowers, 
Lying  dallying  on  the  grass  ! 
And  thus,  our  delightful  hours, 

Full  of  waking  dreams,  shall  pass ! 


When  thy  joys  were  thus  at  height,  my  love  should  turn  from 

thee! 
Old  acquaintance  then  should  grow  as  strange  as  strange 
might  be  ! 

Twenty  rivals  thou  shouldst  find, 

Breaking  all  their  hearts  for  me  ! 
While  to  all,  I'll  prove  more  kind 

And  more  forward,  than  to  thee  ! 


Thus,  thy  silly  youth,  enraged,  would  soon  my  love  defy ! 

But,  alas,  poor  soul  !  too  late  !  Clipt  wings  can  never  fly ! 

Those  sweet  hours  which  we  had  past ; 

Called  to  mind,  thy  heart  would  burn  ! 
And  couldst  thou  fly,  ne'er  so  fast, 

They  would  make  thee  straight  return  ! 


238  Thomas  Campion's 


Hall  I  come,  sweet  love,  to  thee, 

When  the  evening  beams  are  set? 
Shall  I  not  excluded  be  ? 

Will  you  find  no  feigned  let  ? 
Let  me  not,  for  pity,  more, 
Tell  the  long  hours  at  your  door  ! 

Who  can  tell  what  thief  or  foe, 
In  the  covert  of  the  night, 
For  his  prey,  will  work  my  woe ; 

Or  through  wicked  foul  despite? 
So  may  I  die  unredrest, 
Ere  my  long  love  be  possest. 

But  to  let  such  dangers  pass, 

Which  a  lover's  thoughts  disdain : 
'Tis  enough  in  such  a  place, 

To  attend  love's  joys  in  vain. 

Do  not  mock  me  in  thy  bed, 

While  these  cold  nights  freeze  me  dead. 


Hrice,  toss  these  oaken  ashes  in  the  air, 
Thrice,  sit  thou  mute  in  this  enchanted  chair ; 
Then  thrice  three  times,  tie  up  this  true  love's  knot ! 
And  murmur,  soft,  "  She  will,  or  she  will  not." 

Go  burn  these  poisonous  weeds  in  yon  blue  fire, 
These  screech-owl's  feathers  !   and  this  prickling  briar  ; 
This  cypress,  gathered  at  a  dead  man's  grave  ; 
That  all  thy  fears  and  cares,  an  end  may  have. 

Then  come,  you  Fairies  !  dance  with  me  a  round  1 
Melt  her  hard  heart  with  your  melodious  sound  1 
In  vain  !  are  all  the  charms  I  can  devise. 
She  hath  an  Art  to  break  them  with  her  eyes. 


Third  Book  of  Airs.  239 

E  thou  then,  my  Beauty  named, 
Since  thy  will  is  to  be  mine  ! 

For  by  that  I  am  enflamed, 
Which  on  all  alike  doth  shine. 

Others  may  the  light  admire, 

I  only  truly  feel  the  fire. 

But  if  lofty  titles  move  thee, 
Challenge  then  a  Sovereign's  place  ! 
Say  I  honour,  when  I  love  thee ; 
Let  me  call  thy  kindness,  Grace ! 

State  and  Love,  things  diverse  be, 
Yet  will  we  teach  them  to  agree  ! 

Or  if  this  be  not  sufficing; 
Be  thou  styled  my  Goddess,  then  : 

I  will  love  thee,  sacrificing  ! 
In  thine  honour,  hymns  I'll  pen  ! 

To  be  thine,  what  canst  thou  more  ? 
I'll  love  thee  !  serve  thee  !  and  adore  ! 


Ire  !  fire  !  fire  !  fire  ! 

Lo  here,  I  burn  in  such  desire 

That  all  the  tears  that  I  can  strain, 

Out  of  mine  idle  empty  brain, 

Cannot  allay  my  scorching  pain. 

Come  Trent,  and  Humber,  and  fair  Thames  ! 

Dread  Ocean  !  haste  with  all  thy  streams  ! 

And  if  you  cannot  quench  my  fire  ; 

O  drown  both  me,  and  my  desire  ! 

Fire  !  fire  !  fire  !  fire  ! 
There  is  no  hell  to  my  desire. 
See  !  all  the  rivers,  backward  fly  ! 
And  th'  Ocean  doth  his  waves  deny! 
For  fear  my  heat  should  drink  them  dry. 


240  Thomas  Campion's 

Come  heavenly  showers  then,  pouring  down  ' 
Come  you,  that  once  the  world  did  drown  ! 
Some  then  you  spared  ;  but  now  save  all  1 
That  else  must  burn,  and  with  me  fall  1 


Sweet  delight !  O  more  than  human  bliss, 
With  her  to  live  that  ever  loving  is ; 
To  hear  her  speak,  whose  words  are  so  well  placed, 
That  she  by  them,  as  they  by  her  are  graced  ; 
Those  looks  to  view,  that  feast  the  viewer's  eye  : 
How  blest  is  he,  that  may  so  live  and  die ! 

Such  love  as  this,  the  Golden  times  did  know, 
When  all  did  reap,  and  none  took  care  to  sow  ; 
Such  love  as  this,  an  endless  summer  makes, 
And  all  distaste  from  frail  affection  takes. 
So  loved,  so  blessed,  in  my  beloved  am  I  ; 
Which  till  their  eyes  ache,  let  iron  men  envy! 


i   i 


Hus  I  resolve,  and  time  hath  taught  me  so  ; 

Since  she  is  fair  and  ever  kind  to  me, 

Though  she  be  wild  and  wanton-like  in  show  ; 

Those  little  stains  in  youth,  I  will  not  see. 

That  she  be  constant,  heaven  I  oft  implore, 
If  prayers  prevail  not,  I  can  do  no  more. 


Palm  tree  the  more  you  press,  the  more  it  grows, 

Leave  it  alone,  it  will  not  much  exceed. 

Free  beauty  if  you  strive  to  yoke,  you  lose  : 

And  for  affection,  strange  distaste  you  breed. 

What  Nature  hath  not  taught,  no  Art  can  frame. 
Wild  born  be  wild  still!  though  by  force  you  tame  ! 


II 


Third  Book  of  Airs.  241 

Ome  !  O  come,  my  life's  delight 

Let  me  not  in  languor  pine  ! 

Love  loves  no  delay ;  thy  sight, 

The  more  enjoyed,  the  more  divine  ; 
O  come,  and  take  from  me 
The  pain,  of  being  deprived  of  thee  ! 

Thou  all  sweetness  dost  enclose ! 
Like  a  little  world  of  bliss  : 

Beauty  guards  thy  looks  !    The  rose 
In  them,  pure  and  eternal  is. 

Come,  then  !  and  make  thy  flight 

As  swift  to  me,  as  heavenly  light ! 


Ould  my  heart,  more  tongues  employ, 
Than  it  harbours  thoughts  of  grief; 

It  is  now  so  far  from  joy, 
That  it  scarce  could  ask  relief. 

Truest  hearts,  by  deeds  unkind, 
To  despair  are  most  inclined. 

Happy  minds  !  that  can  redeem 
Their  engagements  how  they  please : 

That  no  joys  or  hopes  esteem, 
Half  so  precious  as  their  ease. 

Wisdom  should  prepare  men  so, 
As  if  they  did  all  foreknow. 

Yet  no  art  or  caution  can 
Grown  affections  easily  change ; 

Use  is  such  a  Lord  of  man, 
That  he  brooks  worst  what  is  strange. 
Better  never  to  be  blest, 
Than  to  lose  all,  at  the  best. 
Q 


242  Thomas  Campion's 

LEEP,  angry  beauty!  Sleep,  and  fear  not  me! 

For  who  a  sleeping  lion  dares  provoke  ? 

It  shall  suffice  me,  here  to  sit  and  see, 

Those  lips  shut  up,  that  never  kindly  spoke. 
What  sight  can  more  content  a  lover's  mind, 
Than  beauty  seeming  harmless,  if  not  kind  ? 

My  words  have  charmed  her,  for  secure  she  sleeps ; 
Though  guilty  much,  of  wrong  done  to  my  love  ; 
And,  in  her  slumber,  see  !  she,  close-eyed,  weeps  ! 
Dreams  often,  more  than  waking  passions  move. 

Plead,  Sleep,  my  cause  !  and  make  her  soft,  like  Thee  ! 

That  she,  in  peace,  may  wake,  and  pity  me. 


Illy  boy!  'tis  full  moon  yet;  thy  night  as  day  shines 

clearly, 
Had  thy  youth  but  wit  to  fear ;  thou  couldst  not  love 
so  dearly  ! 

Shortly,  wilt  thou  mourn !  when  all  thy  pleasures  be  bereaved : 
Little  knows  he  how  to  love,  that  never  was  deceived. 

This  is  thy  first  maiden  flame,  that  triumphs  yet  unstained ! 
All  is  artless  now  you  speak ;  not  one  word,  yet,  is  feigned  ! 
All  is  heaven   that  you  behold,  and  all  your  thoughts  are 

blessed! 
But  no  Spring  can  want  his  Fall!     Each  Troilus  hath  his 

Cressid  ! 

Thy  well-ordered  locks,  ere  long,  shall  rudely  hang  neglected  ! 
And  thy  lively  pleasant  cheer,  read  grief  on  earth  dejected  ! 
Much  then  wilt  thou  blame  thy  Saint,  that  made  thy  heart 

so  holy  ! 
And,  with  sighs,  confess,  "  In  love,  that  too  much  faith  is 

folly  I  " 


Third  Book  of  Airs. 


243 


Yet  be  just  and  constant  still !  Love  may  beget  a  wonder; 
Not  unlike  a  summer's  frost,  or  winter's  fatal  thunder. 
He  that  holds  his  sweetheart  true,  unto  his  day  of  dying, 
Lives,  of  all  that  ever  breathed,  most  worthy  the  envying. 


Ever  love  !  unless  you  can 

Bear  with  all  the  faults  of  man  ! 

Men  sometimes  will  jealous  be, 

Though  but  little  cause  they  see ; 
And  hang  the  head,  as  discontent, 
And  speak,  what  straight  they  will  repent. 


Men  that  but  one  saint  adore, 
Make  a  show  of  love  to  more. 
Beauty  must  be  scorned  in  none, 
Though  but  truly  served  in  one. 

For  what  is  Courtship,  but  disguise  ? 

True  hearts  may  have  dissembling  eyes  I 

Men  when  their  affairs  require, 
Must  a  while  themselves  retire  : 
Sometimes  hunt,  and  sometimes  hawk, 
And  not  ever  sit  and  talk. 

If  these,  and  such  like  you  can  bear; 

Then  like  !  and  love  1  and  never  fear! 


O  quick  !  so  hot !  so  mad  is  thy  fond  suit ! 

So  rude,  so  tedious  grown,  in  urging  me  ! 

That  fain  I  would,  with  loss,  make  thy  tongue  mute ' 

And  yield  some  little  grace,  to  quiet  thee  ! 

An  hour  with  thee,  I  care  not  to  converse ; 

For  I  would  not  be  counted  too  perverse  ! 


244       Thomas  Campion's  Third  Book  of  Airs. 

But  roofs,  too  hot  would  prove  for  men  all  fire ; 

And  hills,  too  high  for  my  unused  pace  ; 

The  grove  is  charged  with  thorns  and  the  bold  briar ; 

Grey  snakes,  the  meadows  shroud  in  every  place : 
A  yellow  frog,  alas,  will  fright  me  so, 
As  I  should  start,  and  tremble  as  I  go  ! 

Since  then  I  can,  on  earth,  no  fit  room  find ; 

In  heaven,  I  am  resolved,  with  you  to  meet ! 

Till  then,  for  hope's  sweet  sake !  rest  your  tired  mind  ; 

And  not  so  much  as  see  me  in  the  street ! 

A  heavenly  meeting,  one  day,  we  shall  have  ! 

But  never,  as  you  dream,  in  bed,  or  grave ! 


Hall  I  then  hope,  when  faith  is  fled  ? 
Can  I  seek  love,  when  hope  is  gone  ? 
Or  can  I  live,  when  love  is  dead  ? 
Poorly  he  lives,  that  can  love  none. 

Her  vows  are  broke,  and  I  am  free ; 

She  lost  her  faith,  in  losing  me. 

When  I  compare  mine  own  events, 
When  I  weigh  others'  like  annoy  : 

All  do  but  heap  up  discontents, 
That,  on  a  beauty  build  their  joy. 

Thus  I,  of  all  complain  ;  since  she 
All  faith  hath  lost,  in  losing  me. 

So  my  dear  freedom  have  I  gained, 
Through  her  unkindness  and  disgrace : 

Yet  could  I  ever  live  enchained, 
As  she  my  service  did  embrace. 

But  she  is  changed,  and  I  am  free. 
Faith  failing  her,  love  died  in  me. 


Dedication.  245 

To     my     worthy   friend     Master    John 

M on son,  Son  and  Heir  to   Sir 

Thomas  Monson,  Knight 

and  Baronet, 


N  you  !  th'affections  of  your  father's  friends, 
With  his  inheritance,  by  right,  descends  ! 
But  you,  your  graceful  youth  so  wisely  guide, 
That  his,  you  hold ;  and  purchase  much  beside  ! 
Love  is  the  fruit  of  Virtue  ;  for  whose  sake, 
Men  only  liking,  each  to  other  take. 
If  sparks  of  virtue  shined  not  in  you  then 
So  well,  how  could  you  win  the  hearts  of  men  ? 
And  since  that  Honour  and  well-suited  Praise 
Is  Virtue's  Golden  Spur  :  let  me  now  raise 
Unto  an  act  mature,  your  tender  age ! 
This  Half  commending  to  your  patronage, 
Which  from  your  noble  father's,  but  one  side 
Ordained  to  do  you  honour  !  doth  divide. 
And  so  my  love,  betwixt  you  both  I  part ; 
On  each  side  placing  you,  as  near  my  heart  \ 

Yours  ever, 

Thomas   Campion. 


246 


Thomas  Campion's 


To  the  Reader. 


He  Apothecaries  have  Books  of  Gold,  whose  leaves, 
being  opened,  are  so  light  as  that  they  are  subject  to  be 
shaken  with  the  least  breath;  yet  rightly  handled^  they 
serve  both  for   ornament  and  use.     Such   are   light  Airs. 

Some  words  are  in  these  Books,  which  have  been  clothed  in  music 
by  others,  and  I  am  content  they  then  served  their  turn  :  yet  give 
me  leave  to  make  use  of  mine  own  I  Likewise,  you  may  find  here 
some  three  or  four  Songs  that  have  been  published  before  :  but  for 
them,  I  refer  you  to  the  Player's  bill,  that  is  styled,  Newly  revived, 
with  Additions;  for  you  shall  find  all  of  them  reformed,  either  in 
words  or  notes. 

To  be  brief.  All  these  Songs  are  mine,  if  you  express  them  well! 
Otherwise,  they  are  your  own  !     Farewell. 


Yours,  as  you  are  his, 

Thomas   Campion. 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs. 


247 


The    Fourth    Book. 


Eave  prolonging  thy  distress  ! 

All  delays  afflict  the  dying, 

Many  lost   sighs  long  I   spent,  to  her  for 

mercy  crying. 

But,  now,  vain  mourning,  cease ! 

I'll  die,  and  mine  own  griefs  release. 


Thus  departing  from  this  light 

To  those  shades  that  end  in  sorrow. 

Yet  a  small  time  of  complaint,  a  little  breath  I'll  borrow, 

To  tell  my  once  Delight, 

"  I  die,  alone,  through  her  despite." 


Espect  my  faith  !  Regard  my  service  past ! 
The  hope  you  winged  ;  call  home  to  you,  at  last ! 
Great  price  it  is,  that  I  in  you  shall  gain ! 
So,  great  for  you  hath  been  my  loss  and  pain  ! 

My  wits  I  spent  and  time,  for  you  alone  ! 

Observing  you  !  and  losing  all  for  one  1 


Some  raised  to  rich  estates,  in  this  time,  are ; 
That  held  their  hopes  to  mine,  inferior  far : 
Such,  scoffing  me,  or  pitying  me,  say  thus, 
"  Had  he  not  loved,  he  might  have  lived  like  us !  " 
O  then  ;  dear  Sweet  !  For  love  and  pity's  sake, 
My  faith  reward  !  and  from  me,  scandal  take  ! 


248  Thomas  Campion's 

Hou  joyest,  fond  boy !  to  be  by  many  loved  ! 
To  have  thy  beauty,  of  most  dames  approved ! 
For  this,  dost  thou  thy  native  worth  disguise : 
And  playest  the  sycophant,  t'observe  their  eyes ! 

Thy  glass  thou  counsellest,  more  to  adorn  thy  skin; 

That  first  should  school  thee,  to  be  fair  within ! 

'Tis  childish,  to  be  caught  with  pearl  or  amber ! 
And,  woman-like,  too  much  to  cloy  the  chamber! 
Youths  should  the  fields  affect,  heat  their  rough  steeds, 
Their  hardened  nerves  to  fit  for  better  deeds. 

Is  it  not  more  joy,  strongholds  to  force  with  swords  ; 

Than  women's  weakness  take,  with  looks  or  words  ! 

Men  that  do  noble  things,  all  purchase  glory. 
One  man,  for  one  brave  act,  hath  proved  a  Story : 
But  if  that  one,  ten  thousand  dames  o'ercame; 
Who  would  record  it,  if  not  to  his  shame  ? 

'Tis  far  more  conquest,  with  one  to  live  true; 

Than,  every  hour,  to  triumph,  Lord  of  new. 


Eil,  Love,  mine  eyes !  0  hide  from  me 
The  plagues  that  charge  the  curious  mind ! 
If  beauty  private  will  not  be, 
Suffice  it  yet,  that  she  proves  kind. 

Who  can  usurp  heaven's  light  alone  ? 

Stars  were  not  made  to  shine  on  one  ! 

Griefs  past  recure,  fools  try  to  heal, 
That  greater  harms  on  less  inflict : 
The  pure  offend  by  too  much  zeal. 
Affection  should  not  be  too  strict ! 

He  that  a  true  embrace  will  find, 

To  beauty's  faults  must  still  be  blind  ! 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs.  249 


Very  dame  affects  good  fame,  whate'er  her  doings  be, 
But  true  praise  is  Virtue's  bays,  which  none  may 

wear  but  she. 
Borrowed  guise  fits  not  the  wise.     A  simple  look  is 
best. 
Native  grace  becomes  a  face,  though  ne'er  so  rudely  drest. 
Now  such  new  found  toys  are  sold,  these  women  to  dis- 
guise ; 
That,  before  the  year  grows  old,  the  newest  fashion  dies. 


Dames,  of  yore,  contended  more,  in  goodness  to  exceed  ; 
Than  in  pride,  to  be  envied,  for  that  which  least  they  need. 
Little  lawn  then  serve  the  pawn,  if  pawn  at  all  there  were. 
Homespun  thread,  and  household  bread,  then  held  out  all 
the  year. 
But  th'attires  of  women,  now,  wear  out  both  house  and 

land. 
That  the  wives  in  silks  may  flow ;  at  ebb,  the  good  men 
stand. 


Once  again,  Astrea  !  then,  from  heaven  to  earth  descend ! 

And  vouchsafe,  in  their  behalf,  these  errors  to  amend  ! 

Aid  from  heaven  must  make  all  even,  things  are  so  out  of 

frame, 
For  let  man  strive  all  he  can,   he  needs  must  please    his 
dame. 
Happy  man!    content  that  giv*s;  and  what  he  gives, 

enjoys ! 
Happy  dame !  content  that  lives ;  and  breaks  no  sleep 
for  toys ! 


250  Thomas  Campion's 

O  sweet  is  thy  discourse  to  me, 

And  so  delightful  is  thy  sight, 
As  I  taste  nothing  right,  but  thee 

O  why  invented  Nature,  light  ? 

Was  it  alone  for  beauty's  sake, 

That  her  graced  words  might  better  take  ? 

No  more  can  I,  old  joys  recall. 
They  now  to  me  become  unknown  ; 
Not  seeming  to  have  been  at  all. 
Alas  !  how  soon  is  this  love  grown 

To  such  a  spreading  height  in  me ; 
As  with  it,  all  must  shadowed  be  1 


j  Here  is  a  garden  in  her  face, 
Where  roses  and  white  lilies  grow ; 

A  heavenly  paradise  is  that  place, 
W'herein  all  pleasant  fruits  do  flow. 

There  cherries  grow,  which  none  may  buy 
Till  "  Cherry  ripe  "  themselves  do  cry. 

Those  cherries  fairly  do  enclose 
Of  orient  pearl  a  double  row  ; 

Which  when  her  lovely  laughter  shows, 
They  look  like  rosebuds  filled  with  snow. 
Yet  them  nor  peer  nor  prince  can  buy 
Till  "  Cherry  ripe  "  themselves  do  cry. 

Her  eyes,  like  angels,  watch  them  still. 
Her  brows,  like  bended  bows,  do  stand  ; 

Threatening  with  piercing  frowns  to  kill 
All  that  attempt,  with  eye  or  hand, 

Those  sacred  cherries  to  come  nigh 
Till  "  Cherry  ripe  "  themselves  do  cry. 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs. 


251 


0  his  sweet  lute ;  Apollo  sang  the  motions  of  the 

spheres, 
The   wondrous  orders   of  the  stars,  whose    course 
divides  the  years ; 

And  all  the  mysteries  above  : 
But  none  of  this,  could  Midas  move  ; 
Which  purchased  him,  his  ass's  ears. 


Then  Pan,  with  his  rude  pipe,  began,  the  country  wealth 

t'advance, 
To  boast  of  cattle,  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats,  on  hills,  that 
dance ; 

With  much  more  of  this  churlish  kind : 
That  quite  transported  Midas'  mind, 
And  held  him  wrapt  in  trance. 


This  wrong,  the  God  of  Music  scorned,  from  such  a  sottish 

judge, 
And  bent  his  angry   bow   at    Pan,  which    made  the  piper 
trudge : 

Then  Midas'  head  he  so  did  trim ; 
That  every  age  yet  talks  of  him 
And  Phcebus'  right  revenged  grudge. 


Oung  and  simple,  though  I  am, 
I  have  heard  of  Cupid's  name  : 
Guess  I  can  what  thing  it  is, 
Men  desire  when  they  do  kiss. 

Smoke  can  never  burn,  they  say, 
But  the  flames  that  follow  may. 


252  Thomas  Campion's 

I  am  not  so  foul  or  fair, 

To  be  proud,  nor  to  despair  ; 

Guess  I  can,  what  thing  it  is 

Men  desire  when  they  do  kiss. 

Smoke  can  never  burn,  they  say, 
But  the  flames  that  follow  may. 

Faith,  'tis  but  a  foolish  mind, 
Yet,  methinks,  a  heat  I  find : 
Like  thirst  longing,  that  doth  bide 
Ever  on  my  weaker  side ; 

Where,  they  say  my  heart  doth  move. 

Venus  !    Grant  it  be  not  love ! 

If  it  be,  alas,  what  then  ! 

Were  not  women  made  for  men  ? 

As  good  'twere  a  thing  were  past, 

That  must  needs  be  done  at  last. 
Roses  that  are  overblown, 
Grow  less  sweet ;  then  fall  alone. 

Yet  not  churl,  nor  silken  gull, 
Shall  my  maiden  blossom  pull ; 
Who  shall  not,  I  soon  can  tell, 
Who  shall,  would  I  could  as  well  I 
This  I  know,  Whoe'er  he  be, 
Love  he  must,  or  flatter  me. 


Ove  me  or  not ;  love  her  I  must,  or  die ! 
Leave  me  or  not ;  follow  her,  needs  must  I  ! 
0  that  her  grace  would  my  wished  comforts  give  ! 
How  rich  in  her,  how  happy  should  I  live! 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs.  253 

All  my  desire,  all  my  delight  should  be, 
Her  to  enjoy,  her  to  unite  to  me  : 
Envy  should  cease,  her  would  I  love  alone. 
Who  loves  by  looks,  is  seldom  true  to  one. 

Could  I  enchant,  and  that  it  lawful  were, 
Her  would  I  charm  softly,  that  none  should  hear. 
But  love  enforced,  rarely  yields  firm  content ; 
So  would  I  love,  that  neither  should  repent  t 

Hat  means  this  folly?  Now  to  brave  it  so, 

And  then  to  use  submission  ! 
Is  that  a  friend,  that  straight  can  play  the  foe ! 

Who  loves  on  such  condition  ? 

Though  briars  breed  roses,  none  the  briar  affect ; 

But  with  the  flower  are  pleased. 
Love  only  loves  delight  and  soft  respect : 

He  must  not  be  diseased ! 

These  thorny  passions  spring  from  barren  breasts, 

Or  such  as  need  much  weeding. 
Love  only  loves  delight  and  soft  respect : 

But  sends  them  not  home  bleeding. 

Command  thy  humour  !  Strive  to  give  content ! 

And  shame  not  love's  profession  ! 
Of  kindness,  never,  any  could  repent, 

That  made  choice  with  discretion  ! 


Ear  !  if  I  with  guile,  would  gild  a  true  intent ; 
Heaping  flatt'ries  that  in  heart  were  never  meant : 
Easily  could  I  then  obtain, 

What  now,  in  vain,  I  force ! 
Falsehood  much  doth  gain  : 

Truth  yet  holds  the  better  course  I 


254  Thomas  Campion's 

Love  forbid  that,  through  dissembling,  I  should  thrive  I 
Or,  in  praising  you,  myself  of  truth  deprive  ! 

Let  not  your  high  thoughts  debase 

A  simple  truth  in  me ! 
Great  is  Beauty's  grace  : 
Truth  is  yet  as  fair  as  she ! 

Praise  is  but  the  wind  of  pride,  if  it  exceeds, 
Wealth,  prized  in  itself,  no  outward  value  needs. 
Fair  you  are  !  and  passing  fair ! 

You  know  it !  and  'tis  true. 
Yet  let  none  despair, 

But  to  find  as  fair  as  you  ! 

Love  !  where  are  thy  shafts  ?  thy  quiver,  and  thy 

bow? 
Shall  my  wounds  only  weep,  and  he  ungaged  go? 
Be  just,  and  strike  him  too  !  that  dares  contemn  thee 
so  ? 

No  eyes  are  like  to  thine !  though  men  suppose  thee  blind  ! 

So  fair  they  level !  when  the  mark  they  list  to  find  : 

Then,  strike!  O  strike  the  heart  that  bears  the  cruel  mind  ! 

Is  my  fond  sight  deceived  ?  or  do  I  Cupid  spy, 
Close  aiming  at  his  breast;  by  whom,  despised,  I  die! 
Shoot  home,  sweet  Love  !  and  wound  him,  that  he  may  not 
fly! 

O  then  we  both  will  sit  in  some  unhaunted  shade, 

And  heal  each  other's  wound,  which  Love  hath  justly  made  : 

O  hope !  0  thought  too  vain  !  how  quickly  dost  thou  fade  ? 

At  large,  he  wanders  still.     His  heart  is  free  from  pain  ; 
While  secret  sighs  I  spend,  and  tears:  but  all  in  vain. 
Yet  Love  !  thou  knowest,  by  right,  I    should  not   thus  com- 
plain ! 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs.  255 

EAUTY  is  but  a  painted  hell. 

Ay  me  !  ay  me  ! 
She  wounds  them  that  admire  it, 
She  kills  them  that  desire  it. 

Give  her  pride  but  fuel, 

No  fire  is  more  cruel. 

Pity  from  every  heart  is  fled. 

Ay  me  !  ay  me  ! 
Since  false  desire  could  borrow, 
Tears  of  dissembled  sorrow  ; 

Constant  vows  turn  truthless, 

Love  cruel,  Beauty  ruthless. 

Sorrow  can  laugh,  and  Fury  sing. 

Ay  me !  ay  me  ! 
My  raving  griefs  discover, 
I  lived  too  true  a  lover. 

The  first  step  to  madness, 

Is  excess  of  sadness. 


Re  you,  what  your  fair  looks  express  ? 

O  then  be  kind  ! 
From  law  of  Nature,  they  digress, 

Whose  form  suits  not  their  mind. 
Fairness  seen  in  th'outward  shape, 
Is  but  the  Inward  Beauty's  ape. 

Eyes  that  of  earth  are  mortal  made, 

What  can  they  view? 
All's  but  a  Colour  or  a  Shade! 

And  neither  always  true  ! 
Reason's  sight,  that  is  etern, 
E'en  the  Substance  can  discern. 


256  Thomas  Campion's 

Soul  is  the  Man  ;  for  who  will  so 

The  Body  name  ? 
And  to  that  power,  all  grace  we  owe 
That  decks  our  living  frame. 
What,  or  how  had  housen  been, 
But  for  them  that  dwell  therein  ? 

Love  in  the  bosom  is  begot ; 

Not  in  the  eyes. 
No  beauty  makes  the  eye  more  hot ; 

Her  flames,  the  sprite  surprise. 
Let  our  loving  minds  then  meet ! 
For  pure  meetings  are  most  sweet. 


Tnce  she,  even  she,  for  whom  I  lived, 
Sweet  she,  by  fate  from  me  is  torn  ; 
Why  am  I  not  of  sense  deprived  ? 
Forgetting  I  was  ever  born. 

Why  should  I  languish,  hating  light  ? 

Better  to  sleep  an  endless  night  1 

Be  it  either  true  or  aptly  feigned, 
That  some,  of  Lethe's  water  write  : 

'Tis  their  best  medicine,  that  are  pained, 
All  thought  to  lose  of  past  delight. 
O  would  my  anguish  vanish  so  ! 
Happy  are  they,  that  neither  know. 


Must  complain,  yet  do  enjoy  my  love 
She  is  too  fair,  too  rich  in  lovely  parts ! 
Thence  is  my  grief:  for  Nature  while  she  strove, 
With  all  her  graces  and  divinest  arts, 

To  form  her  too  too  beautiful  of  hue ; 

She  had  no  leisure  left,  to  make  her  true. 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs.  257 

Should  I,  agrieved,  then  wish  she  were  less  fair  ? 

That  were  repugnant  to  my  own  desires. 

She  is  admired,  new  lovers  still  repair : 

That  kindles  daily  love's  forgetful  fires. 

Rest,  jealous  thoughts  !  and  thus  resolve  at  last, 
"  She  hath  more  beauty,  than  becomes  the  chaste." 


Hink'st  thou  to  seduce  me  then,  with  words  that 

have  no  meaning ! 
Parrots  so  can  learn  to  prate,  our  speech  by  pieces 
gleaning. 
Nurses  teach  their  children  so,  about  the  time  of  weaning. 


Learn  to  speak  first !  then  to  woo  !     To  wooing,  much  per- 

taineth ; 
He  that  courts  us,  wanting  art;  soon  falters,  when  he  feigneth. 
Looks  asquint  on  his  discourse ;  and  smiles,  when  he  com- 

plaineth. 


Skilful  anglers  hide  their  hooks  ;  fit  baits  for  every  season: 
But  with  crooked  pins,  fish  thou !  as  babes  do,  that  want 

reason. 
Gudgeons,  only,  can  be  caught,  with  such  poortricksof  treason  ! 

Ruth  forgive  me  !  if  I  erred,  from  human  heart's  compassion, 
When   I  laughed  sometimes  too  much,  to  see  thy  foolish 

fashion  ! 
But,  alas,  who  less  could  do,  that  found  so  good  occasion  ? 

11  R 


258  Thomas  Campion's 


|TCr  fair  inflaming  Eyes, 
Chief  authors  of  my  cares. 
I  prayed  in  humble  wise, 
With  grace  to  view  my  tears. 

They  beheld  me,  broad  awake. 
But,  alas,  no  ruth  would  take. 

Her  Lips  with  kisses  rich, 

And  words  of  fair  delight ; 
I  fairly  did  beseech, 
To  pity  my  sad  plight : 

But  a  voice  from  them  brake  forth, 
As  a  whirlwind  from  the  North. 

Then  to  her  Hands  I  fled, 

That  can  give  heart  and  all ; 
To  them  I  long  did  plead, 
And  loud  for  pity  call : 

But,  alas,  they  put  me  off, 
With  a  touch  worse  than  a  scoff. 

So  back  I  straight  returned, 

And  at  her  Breast  I  knocked; 
Where  long  in  vain  I  mourned, 
Her  heart,  so  fast  was  locked : 

Not  a  word  could  passage  find, 
For  a  rock  enclosed  her  mind. 

Then  down  my  prayers  made  way 

To  those  most  comely  parts, 
That  make  her  fly  or  stay, 
As  they  affect  deserts  : 

But  her  angry  Feet,  thus  moved, 
Fled  with  all  the  parts  I  loved. 


Fourth  Book  of  Airs.  259 

Yet  fled  they  not  so  fast, 
As  her  enraged  mind  : 
Still  did  I  after  haste, 
Still  was  I  left  behind ; 

Till  I  found  'twas  to  no  end, 
With  a  Spirit  to  contend. 


Urn  all  thy  thoughts  to  eyes, 
Turn  all  thy  hairs  to  ears, 
Change  all  thy  friends  to  spies, 
And  all  thy  joys  to  fears  : 

True  love  will  yet  be  free, 
In  spite  of  jealousy. 

Turn  darkness  into  day, 
Conjectures  into  truth, 
Believe  what  th'envious  say, 
Let  age  interpret  youth  : 

True  love  will  yet  be  free. 
In  spite  of  jealousy. 

Wrest  every  word  and  look 
Rack  every  hidden  thought, 
Or  fish  with  golden  hook; 
True  love  cannot  be  caught. 
For  that  will  still  be  free 
In  spite  of  jealousy  1 

FINIS. 


26l 


An  Hour'?  Recreation    inJVIu^ic 

1606. 
By   Richard    Alison,    Gentleman. 


To     the     right     worthily    honoured    and 

most  free  respecter  of  all  virtue,  his 

chiefly  esteemed  and  singular  good 

patron,  Sir  John  Scudamore, 

Knight. 

Ow  noble,  how  ancient,  and  how  effectual  the  Art  of 
Music  is,  many  excellent  discourses  of  theorists  deeply 
learned  in  the  science,  have  already  so  confirmed  and 
illustrated,  that  it  might  seem  as  much  arrogancy  in 
me  to  attempt  the  praise  thereof,  as  it  argues  malice  or  ignorance 
in  such  as  seek  to  exclude  it  out  of  divine  or  human  society.  I  will 
only  allege  one  testimony  out  of  an  Epistle,  which  that  ancient 
father,  Martin  Luther,  did  write  to  Senfelius  the  Musician, 
which  is  so  ample  in  commendation  of  this  Art,  that  it  were  super- 
fluous to  add  any  other. 

"  Music,"  saith  he,  "  to  devils  we  know  is  hateful  and  intoler- 


262  I  > INDICATION    TO    SlR    J.    SCUDAMORE. 

able;  And  I  plainly  think,  neither  am  I  ashamed  to  aver  it,  that 
next  tc  Theology,  there  is  no  Art  comparable  with  Music.  For  it 
alone,  next  to  Theology,  doth  effect  that  which  otherwise  only 
Theology  can  perform ;  that  is,  a  quiet  and  a  cheerful  mind." 

Now  if  Music  merits  so  high  a  place  as  this  holy  man  hath 
given  it,  can  we  deny  love  and  honour  to  them  that,  with  their 
grace  and  bounty,  raise  the  professors  thereof?  Or  to  whom  shall 
we  that  labour  in  this  quality,  better  recommend  our  Works  than 
to  our  patrons  and  benefactors  ? 

Receive  therefore,  most  honoured  Knight  and  my  worthiest 
Patron  !  the  fruits  of  your  bounties,  and  the  effects  of  those  quiet 
days  which,  by  your  goodness,  I  have  enjoyed.  A  nd  as  the  glory 
of  a  new-finished  house  belongs  not  so  much  to  the  workman  that 
built  it,  as  to  the  Lord  that  owns  it:  so  if  any  part  of  this  new 
Work  of  mine  can  excite  commendation,  the  grace  is  chiefly  yours  ; 
though  the  labour,  mine.  But  because  there  is  no  man  more  dis- 
trustful of  his  own  endeavours  than  I  am  myself,  by  the  weakness 
of  my  nature  :  I  beseech  you  receive  my  labours,  howsoever,  into 
your  protection  ;  whose  worth  can  best  countenance  them  from 
misfortune,  and  spirit  defend  them.  I  will  only  assist  you  with 
a  poor  mail's  bounty,  I  mean  my  many  humble  prayers  to  the 
Highest  Protector ;  beseeching  Him  to  bless  you  with  long  life 
and  prosperity,  to  His  glory,  and  our  comforts,  that  must  ever  owe 
you  our  service  and  love. 

Your  Worship's,  wholly  devoted, 

RICHARD    ALISON. 


263 


An  Hour's   Recreation  in  Music. 


By  Richard   Alison,  Gentleman. 


(1606.) 


He    man    upright    of   life,    whose   guiltless 
heart  is  free 
From   all   dishonest   deeds   or  thought  of 

vanity : 
That  man  whose  silent  days  in  harmless 
joys  are  spent, 
Whom  hopes  cannot  delude,  nor  sorrow  discontent : 
That  man  needs  neither  towers  nor  armour  for  defence, 
Nor  secret  vaults  to  fly  from  thunder's  violence. 


He  only  can  behold  with  unaffrighted  eyes, 

The  horrors  of  the  deep,  and  terrors  of  the  skies, 

Thus  scorning  all  the  cares,  that  Fate  or  Fortune  brings, 


264  Richard  Alison's 

lie  makes  his  heaven  his  book,  his  wisdom  heavenly  things  ; 
Good  thoughts,  his  only  friends ;  his  wealth,  a  well-spent 

age; 
The  earth,  his  sober  inn,  and  quiet  pilgrimage. 


Heavy  heart !  whose  harms  are  hid, 
Thy  help  is  hurt,  thy  hap  is  hard ; 
If  thou  shouldst  break,  as  God  forbid  ! 
Then  should  Desert  want  his  reward. 
Hope  well  to  have  !  hate  not  sweet  thought ! 
Foul  cruel  storms,  fairer  calms  have  brought  ! 
After  sharp  showers,  the  sun  shines  fair ! 
Hope  comes  likewise  after  Despair  ! 

In  hope,  a  king  doth  go  to  war ! 

In  hope,  a  lover  lives  full  long  ! 

In  hope,  a  merchant  sails  full  far  ! 

In  hope,  just  men  do  suffer  wrong  ! 

In  hope,  the  ploughman  sows  his  seed  ! 

Thus  Hope  helps  thousands  at  their  need  ! 

Then  faint  not,  heart  !  among  the  rest, 

Whatever  chance,  hope  thou  the  best ! 

Though  Wit  bids  Will  to  blow  retreat, 
Will  cannot  work  as  Wit  would  wish  : 
When  that  the  roach  doth  taste  the  bait, 
Too  late  to  warn  the  hungry  fish  : 
When  cities  burn  in  fiery  flame, 
Great  rivers  scarce  may  quench  the  same  : 
If  Will  and  Fancy  be  agreed, 
Too  late  for  Wit  to  bid  take  heed. 


An  Hour's  Recreation.  265 

But  yet  it  seems  a  foolish  drift, 
To  follow  Will,  and  leave  the  Wit : 
The  wanton  horse  that  runs  too  swift, 
May  well  be  stayed  upon  the  bit ; 
But  check  a  horse  amid  his  race, 
And,  out  of  doubt,  you  mar  his  pace ! 
Though  Wit  and  Reason  doth  men  teach, 
Never  to  climb  above  their  reach. 


I  can  no  more  but  hope,  good  heart ! 
For  though  the  worst  doth  chance  to  fall, 
I  know  a  wile  shall  ease  thy  smart, 
And  turn  to  sweet,  thy  sugared  gall. 
When  thy  good  will  and  painful  suit 
Hath  shaked  the  tree,  and  wants  the  fruit: 
Then  keep  thou  patience  well  in  store, 
That  sovereign  salve  shall  heal  thy  sore  ! 


Ho  loves  his  life,  from  love  his  love  doth  err; 
And  choosing  dross,  rich  treasure  doth  deny; 
Leaving  the  pearl,  Christ's  counsel,  to  prefer, 
With  selling  all  we  have,  the  same  to  buy. 
O  happy  soul,  that  doth  disburse  a  sum 
To  gain  a  Kingdom  in  the  life  to  come ! 


266  Richard  Alison's 


Y  prime  of  youth  is  but  a  frost  of  cares  ! 
My  feast  of  joy  is  but  a  dish  of  pain  ! 
My  crop  of  corn  is  but  a  field  of  tares ! 
And  all  my  good  is  but  vain  hope  of  gain ! 
My  life  is  fled,  and  yet  I  saw  no  sun  ! 
And  now  I  live,  and  now  my  life  is  done ! 

The  spring  is  past,  and  yet  it  hath  not  sprung! 
The  fruit  is  dead,  and  yet  the  leaves  be  green ! 
My  youth  is  gone,  and  yet  I  am  but  young ! 
I  saw  the  World,  and  yet  I  was  not  seen ! 
My  thread  is  cut,  and  yet  it  is  not  spun ! 
And  now  I  live,  and  now  my  life  is  done. 


Est  with  yourselves,  you  vain  and  idle  brains  ! 
Which  Youth  and  Age  in  lewdest  Lust  bestow, 
And  find  out  frauds,  and  use  ten  thousand  trains 
To  win  the  soil,  where  nought  but  sin  doth  grow : 
And  live  with  me,  you  chaste  and  honest  minds ! 
Which  do  your  lives  in  lawful  Love  employ, 
And  know  no  sleights,  but  friends  for  virtue  finds, 
And  loath  the  lust,  which  doth  the  soul  destroy. 

For  Lust  is  frail,  where  Love  is  ever  sound ; 
Lust,  outward  sweet ;  but  inward,  bitter  gall : 
A  Shop  of  Shews,  where  no  good  ware  is  found ; 
Not  like  to  Love,  where  honest  faith  is  all. 
So  that  is  Lust,  where  Fancy  ebbs  and  flows, 
And  hates  and  loves,  as  Beauty  dies  and  grows ; 
And  this  is  Love,  where  Friendship  firmly  stands 
On  Virtue's  rock,  and  not  on  sinful  sands. 


An  Hour's  Recreation.  267 

Hall  I  abide  this  jesting  ? 
I  weep,  and  she's  a  feasting ! 
O  cruel  Fancy !  that  so  doth  blind  me 
To  love  one,  that  doth  not  mind  me. 


Can  I  abide  this  prancing? 
I  weep,  and  she  's  a  dancing  ! 
O  cruel  Fancy  !  so  to  betray  me; 
Thou  goest  about  to  slay  me ! 


He  sturdy  rock,  for  all  his  strength, 
By  raging  seas,  is  rent  in  twain ; 
The  marble  stone  is  pierced  at  length, 
With  little  drops  of  drizzling  rain  ; 
The  ox  doth  yield  unto  the  yoke, 
The  steel  obeyeth  the  hammer's  stroke; 

The  stately  stag  that  seems  so  stout 
By  yelping  hounds  at  bay  is  set ; 
The  swiftest  bird  that  flies  about, 
At  length  is  caught  in  fowler's  net ; 
The  greatest  fish,  in  deepest  brook, 
Is  soon  deceived  with  subtle  hook. 


268      Richard  Alison's  An   Hour's  Recreation. 


m 


Hat  if  a  day,  or  a  month,  or  a  year 
Crown   thy  delights  with  a   thousand   sweet   con- 
tentings  ! 

Cannot  a  chance  of  a  night  or  an  hour 
Cross  thy  desires  with  as  many  sad  tormentings? 
Fortune,  Honour,  Beauty,  Youth,  are  but  blossoms  dying! 
Wanton  Pleasure,  doating  Love  are  but  shadows  flying  ! 
All  our  joys  are  but  toys  !  idle  thoughts  deceiving  : 
None  have  power,  of  an  hour,  in  their  lives  bereaving. 

Earth  's  but  a  point  to  the  world,  and  a  Man 
Is  but  a  point  to  the  world's  compared  centre ! 
Shall  then  a  point  of  a  point  be  so  vain 
As  to  triumph  in  a  silly  point's  adventure  ? 
All  is  hazard  that  we  have  !  there  is  nothing  biding ! 
Days  of  pleasure   are   like  streams   through  fair   meadows 
gliding ! 

Weal  and  woe,  time  doth  go  !  time  is  never  turning  ! 

Secret  fates  guide  our  states,  both  in  mirth  and  mourning ! 

[Thomas  Campion,  M.D.] 

FINIS. 


269 


Love   Tosies. 


[The  manuscript 
was 

There  is  no  smart 
Can  turn  my  heart. 

I'll  never  be  his, 
Whose  ring  this  is. 

A  small  remembrance. 

Take  me  up,  as  I. 

There  is  a  time. 

As  black  as  a  cony. 

You  wot  what  I  wish. 

Delayed  too  long. 

Never  fainthearted. 

A  foe,  where  you  hate. 

Mirth  means  wells. 

A  better  were  fitter. 

I  am  not  glad, 
If  you  be  sad. 

As  true  in  love, 
As  turtle-dove. 

So  able,  as  willing. 

Faithful  am  I, 
So  will  I  die. 

Respect  my  mind, 
And  not  my  gift. 

I  require, 
But  you  retire. 

I  will  not  refuse  thee, 
Till  life  refuse  me. 


in  which  this  Collection  is  found, 
written  about  1596.] 

{Hart.  MS.  6910.] 

Though  a  gift  be  small, 
Yet  goodwill  is  all. 

I  give  it  thee 
To  think  on  me. 

Sith  hands  are  tied  with  hearts 

consent, 
Let  only  death  the  knot  prevent 

Your  mouse  am  I, 
So  I  will  die. 

Thoughts  keep  me  waking. 

Farewell !  till  then. 

Chastity  is  a  jewel. 

A  mite  for  a  million. 

No  revel  runs  riot 

It  is  done,  what  then  ? 

Wilt  thou  ?  whit  not  I  ? 

A  token  to  present 
The  absent. 

In  thee  my  choice, 
I  do  rejoice. 

A  token  of  my  goodwill 

Rather  die, 
Than  faith  deny. 

Chastity,  my  felicity. 

I  love  no  honey. 

A  friend's  gift. 

Wear  this  for  a  remembrance. 


2  70 


Love    Posies. 


x6th  Cent. 


Not  the  gift, 
But  the  L;iver. 

I  present  the  absent 

Too  light  to  requite. 

I  live  I,  if  not  I  die. 

As  brown  as  a  berry. 

The  hidden  flame  burneth  hottest. 

Your  constancy 

Is  my  felicity. 

Hope  is  my  only  comfort. 
Forgetfulness  breeds  disdain. 
No  chance  shall  alter  mind. 
As  faithful,  as  friendly. 
Accept  my  goodwill. 
Hold,  lest  I  fall. 

0  slay  not ! 

As  you  find,  so  use. 
Wantons  waver  ! 
A  New  Year's  toy. 

1  would  if  I  might. 
Love  lives  in  loyalty. 
Accept  my  gift  in  loyalty. 
Accept  my  gift  in  goodwill. 
Desert  deserveth. 
Deserve  and  then  desire. 
Happy  choice  is  my  secret  joy. 
I  favour,  as  I  find. 

In  time,  or  never. 

Desire,  what  love  may  require. 

I  require, 

But  you  retire. 

I  hope  to  see 
You  yield  to  me. 

If  I  may  stay, 
Pass  one  day. 


Let  me  find  thee 
In  one  agree. 

Disdain  not  me  ! 

That  am  happy  in  thee. 

Death  strike  !  if 
She  show  spite. 

0  happy  time  ! 
When  you  yield  mine. 

My  troubled  head 
Wisheth  you  his  bed. 

A  friend  to  one, 
Enemy  to  none. 

Not  the  gold,  but  the  giver. 

My  love  is  sure, 
Firm  to  endure. 

If  you  will  me  love, 

1  will  it  quickly  prove. 

Never  fear  to  love. 

We  join  our  hearts  in  GOD. 

Faithful  to  one, 

And  faithless  to  none. 

A  friend  to  the  end. 

Whilst  I  breathe,  I  hope. 

Yours  by  desert 

More  for  remembrance, 
Than  for  recompense. 

To  thee,  a  friend  in  all. 

Keep  secret  for  me. 

As  I  love,  so  I  like. 

Fancy  flattereth  me. 

If  thou  be  well,  all  is  well. 

No  beauty  without  virtue. 

All  my  wits  die  in  your  decay. 

It  is  pain  to  part. 

Firm  faith  flourisheth. 

As  you  find  me,  so  use  me. 


16th  Cent. 


.] 


Love   Posies. 


271 


My  heart  is  yours. 

Yours  in  heart. 

Let  virtue  be  thy  guide. 

Love  and  obey. 

Advised  choice,  admits  no  change. 

My  joy  I  do  enjoy. 

Love  and  Fortune's  best  conclu- 
sion. 

My  choice  is  made,  I  am  con- 
tent. 

Away ;  you  hurt  me. 

Disdain  doubleth  death. 

Desire  hath  set  my  heart  on  fire. 

Last  but  best. 

I  mourn  till  then, 

I  know  not  when. 

Sweet !  wipe  thine  eyes  ! 

I  am  fast  bound  his, 
That  gave  me  this. 

The  yoke  of  friendship. 

Dally,  but  do  it  not ! 

Faith  flattereth  not 

Caught  and  content. 

Seal  me  in  thy  heart ! 

With  hope,  my  mind  is  eased. 

Goodwill  is  worth  goodwill. 

By  me  to  thee. 

Not  mine  but  thine. 

As  promise  doth  bind, 
Be  faithful  and  kind. 

This  ring  is  round  and  hath  no 

end, 
So  is  my  love  unto  my  friend. 
If  you  deny,  my  heart  will  die. 
If  you  deny,  I  wish  to  die. 


I    wish    my    faith    could    fancy 
please. 

With  hope  my  mind  is  eased. 

Forget  not  him  that  thinks  on 
you. 

It  is  good  to  fish  in  time. 

GOD's  providence  is  my  inherit- 
ance. 

Continue  you,  for  I  am  true. 

The  end  of  my  hope. 

To  me  be  true,  as  I  to  you. 

A  constant  mind,  I  hope  to  find. 

My  choice,  no  change  can  like. 

Love  envieth  not. 

Redeem  the  time. 

Your  faith  is  my  freedom. 

Mine  eye  is  pleased, 
Mine  heart  is  eased. 

Not  so  able,  as  willing. 

Let  pity  plead  my  suit  ! 

Naked    truth   is   the   anchor    of 
credit. 

Careful  to  comfort  thee. 

In  trust,  be  just ! 

Though  not  rich,  yet  content. 

Link  love  with  liking. 

Stand  to  your  tackling  ! 

Finish  my  desire ! 

My  constancy  continued. 
May  not  be  removed. 

I  choose  not   you,  in   hope   to 
change. 

Love  is  a  trouble. 

As  GOD  decreed,  so  we  agreed. 

One  pleased,  both  eased. 


272 


Love    Posies. 


16th  Cent. 


True  love  hath  led  my  heart  to 

choose. 
My  heart  is  dead,  if  you  refuse. 
As  faithful  to  thee,  as  may  be. 
I  vow  to  be  thine  ! 
Long  wished,  at  last  obtained. 
By  desert  worthy  of  praise. 
Restless  I  live. 

Loathing  life  yet  living  death. 
My  secret  hope  in  time  may  hap. 
No  lack  where  love. 

Pity  his  part, 

Who  presenteth  thee  his  heart. 

Let  love  prevail, 
Till  death  doth  fail. 

Let  not  absence  forget  friendship. 

Death  is  gain,  life  is  pain. 

Let  love  increase  ! 

When  fortune  frowneth, 
Then  love  is  changed. 

The  pledge  of  her  remembrance. 

Bold    force     overcometh     high 
things. 

Together,  and  for  ever. 

Blessed  are  the  dead 
That  die  in  the  LORD. 

Be  true  till  death 
Doth  take  thy  breath. 

Wherever  I  be, 
Think  on  me. 

Friends  fail,  but  GOD  never. 

Let  no  man  part  that  GOD  hath 
joined. 

Nothing  but  GOD  above 
Can  part  my  love. 

No  good  cometh  of  idleness. 


The  courteous   person   will   say 
well. 

Ever,  or  never. 

My  rejoicing  is  repentance. 

Yours,  or  not  his  own. 

If  virtue  thou  embrace, 

Thou  needs  must  fear  disgrace. 

No  friend  to  faith  in  sickness  or 
health. 

My   faith   unfeigned,   my  friend 
shall  find. 

Requite  my  love. 

Remit  my  love. 

GOD  guide  the  hand, 
Whereon  I  stand. 

Expe7'ientia  docet. 

Bought  wit  is  best. 

Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind. 

Time  trieth  all  things. 

Time  tarrieth  no  man. 

By  faith  I  live,  and  faith  I  give. 

O  that  I  were  as  able  as  willing  1 

Speak  well,  or  else  be  mute. 

What  joy  to  a  contented  mind? 

Live  in  love  without  mislike. 

The    man    that    receiveth   well, 
fareth  not  ill. 

No  labour  lost  in  doing  well. 

A  quiet  wife  prolongeth  life. 

Live  well,  and  die  never; 
Die  well,  and  live  ever. 

Repentance  deserveth  pardon. 

GOD  made  my  choice, 
To  cause  my  joy. 

Fancy  is  fickle. 


16th  Cent.  J 


Love    Posies. 


273 


Change  not  thy  chosen  friend  ! 

Mutual   consent  in  love   affords 
happy  content  in  life. 

That  want  denies,  goodwill  sup- 
plies. 

My  body  heartless,  my  grief  end- 
less. 

Live,  love  and  die 
In  faith  and  constancy. 

As  promise  doth  bind  thee, 
So  let  me  find  thee. 

Gold  pure,  love  a  friend  sure  ! 

A  merry  heart  is  life. 

I  give  it  thee 
To  think  on  me. 

As  you  find  me,  so  use  me  ! 

I  wish  you  joy. 

Nothing  but  to  be. 

Let  patience  conquer  grief ! 

A  merry  heart, 
Puts  by  smart. 

I  would  I  were 
With  you,  my  Dear  ! 

I  would  be  glad, 
If  you  I  had. 

If  so  I  may, 

I  will  not  say  "  Nay." 

I  have  done, 

If  you  yield  not  soon. 

Spent  is  time, 
And  you  not  mine  ! 

Remember  me, 
As  I  do  thee. 
If  you  be  pleased, 
My  heart  is  eased. 

Thy  death  is  mine, 
My  life  is  thine. 
II 


That  love  hath  wrough 
Is  dearly  bought. 
There  is  no  pain 
To  love  in  vain. 
No  heart  can  starve, 
Where  love  doth  carve. 

Good  luck  shall  be  my  lot. 

The  end  doth  try  a  faithful  friend 

Take  in  good  part 
My  loving  heart ! 

When  this  you  see, 
Remember  me  ! 

Love  not  for  gain, 
True  dealing  is  plain. 

Glad  for  your  goodwill, 

Sad  for  [your]  ill. 

Better  dead,  than  doubtful. 

In  trial  trusty. 

Far  off,  yet  not  forgot. 

Remember  me,  as  I  love  thee. 

When  you  see  this, 
Wish  me  a  kiss. 

I  rest  in  hope,  and  time. 

Your  stay,  my  wound. 

I  am  constant,  and  love  ever 

No  bravery  to  beauty. 

Reward  desert. 

Hope,  heart's  handmaid. 

I  live  to  love. 

Try  as  gold, 
Fear  to  be  bold. 

Cast  my  deserts  ! 

Pity  my  passion  ! 

Consent  is  sweet. 

Be  resolute  till  death  \ 

Now,  or  never ! 


74 


Love   Posies. 


[. 


Cth  Cent. 


If  once,  for  ever  ! 
This,  with  me. 
Remember  your  friend ! 
Love  to  be  loved  ! 
To  me  have  regard, 
And  with  love  me  reward. 
Suppose  you  love  me  ! 
Yours  to  command. 
Oh,  that  I  might ! 

Do  not  to  repent 
And  so  to  be  shent. 

My  affection  is  my  affliction. 

Firm  friendship  flourisheth. 

Help  many,  hurt  not  any. 

Mistrust  not  the  true ! 

A  friend  to  hold, 
Is  better  than  gold. 

A  friend  to  find, 
No  time  unbind. 

I  joy  to  find, 

A  constant  mind. 

In  silence  I  sorrow. 

Advised  choice  is  void  of  change. 

In  heart  I  him  grave, 
His  love-knot  this  gave. 

In  my  choice, 
I  do  rejoice. 
As  joined  in  one, 
So  joy-  in  one. 

One  quiet ;  both  happy. 

Stand  fast  in  faith  ! 

Love  and  fear  GOD  ! 

GOD  hath  appointed,  I  am  con- 
tent. 

No  earthly  voice 

Shall  change  my  choice. 


Never  inconstant. 

Continue  faithful ! 

Rather  death,  than  false  of  faith. 

Be  faithful  and  loving. 

Homely  choice  and  happy  joy. 

In  GOD  is  my  trust. 

True  love  is  the  bond  of  peace. 

Keep  faith  till  death  ! 

No  hell  to  a  dissembler. 

If  part,  I  pine. 

No  joy  to  heaven. 

Your  perfect  friend 
Till  ground  have  end. 

Love  unloved,  labour  ill  lost. 
Time  shall  tell  thee, 
How  much  I  love  thee  ! 

Your  wrong,  my  grief. 
No  bliss  so  sweet  as  this. 
Let  not  the  guiltless  mourn  ! 
My  joy  consisteth  in  hope. 
Poverty  preventeth  me. 
Myself  and  mine  are  only  thine. 

My  hue  doth  show 
My  mistress'  woe. 
Better  never,  if  not  ever. 
I  mourn  with  silence. 
Contented  with  my  hidden  hap. 

Heigh  ho  ! 
Tread  off  my  toe  ! 

Beauty  is  brave, 
If  love  thou  have. 

Let  virtue  guide  ! 

Your  goodness,  my  happiness. 

A  pretty  thing  for  a  maiden. 

Hard  heart !  adieu  ! 


16th  Cent., 


Love   Posies. 


275 


In  silence,  yours  ! 

I  see  and  say  nothing. 

Until  death  ! 

Twixt  life  and  death. 

Silent  sorrow. 

Love  is  truth. 

Life  in  death. 

Still  in  hope. 

My  faith  is  firm. 

Waver  not ! 

To  thee,  a  friend  in  all. 

Absent  I  am  but  for  a  time. 

And  will  you  not 
Fall  to  my  lot  ? 

If  I  hap  ill, 
My  hope  I  spill. 

Seldom  seen  is  soon  forgot 

When  I  was  fit, 
I  could  not  sit. 

He  meant  you  his, 
I  sent  you  this. 

One  to  one 
Is  match  alone. 

Give  him  his  due, 
That  is  so  true  ! 

Denials  breed  my  smart. 

Not  too  fast, 
But  to  last. 

Slow  but  sure. 

Hap  what  may, 
I  list  not  stay. 

And  why  not  I  ?  if  thou  agree. 

I  die  if  thou  deny. 

Have  at  all, 
Hap  what  shall. 


Fear  GOD  !  love  will  live  ever. 

I  nought  do  crave 
But  you  to  have. 

Outward  shape, 
Doth  reason  hate. 

Where  faith  doth  abide 
There  love  doth  guide. 

Faith  absent,  desires  content. 

Each  good  thing 

From  GOD  doth  spring. 

No  friendlier  recompense 
Than  true  obedience. 

True  love  with  continuance 
Keeps  this  in  remembrance. 

Thou  hast  my  heart,  and  shall. 

A  knot-knit  love. 

My  words  !  myself ! 

Yours  at  midnight,  take  this  in 
hand. 

No  longer  life 
Than  faithful  wife. 

I   hope  my  good  will  help   my 
grief. 

Be  true  in  heart, 
Till  death  depart ! 

[i.e.  part  from  one  another. .] 

Let  not  your  heart 
From  your  love  start  ! 

I  like,  I  love,  I  live  content, 
I  made  my  choice  not  to  repent. 

A  pledge  that  binds 
Two  hearts,  two  minds. 

My  ring  a  toy, 
My  wife  my  joy. 

Fides  tita,  spes  viea. 

A  gage  to  love, 
Not  to  remove. 


276 


Love   Posies. 


[. 


6th  Cent. 


I  still  rejoice 

In  my  first  choice. 

Obey  and  command  I 
Yield  and  conquer ! 

ran  jit  go,  dulcis  tractus. 

Be  faithful  and  loving  ! 

Believe  and  live  ! 

One  and  all,  and  one  is  all. 

Retire  unstained  1 

Oh  !  quando  I 

No  more  of  that ! 

Say,  but  swear  not ! 

I  may  not,  if  I  would. 

For  virtue,  and  not  for  wealth. 

I  may  and  will  not. 

Come,  kiss  me  daintily  ! 

One  to  one  I  wish  alone. 

Climb  not  too  high  ! 

Thought  is  dear  bought 

My  mind  I  frame 
To  bear  no  blame. 

Unity  increaseth  amity. 

Hate  not  any  ! 
Lest  hated  of  many. 

Never  dread  to  love  a  maid  ! 

The  summer  is  gay 
For  maids  to  play. 

The  shoe  maketh  me  woo. 

Once  chosen,  never  changing. 

No  wealth  to  well  content 

Refuse  not  friendly  faith  ! 

The  heart  that  is  thine, 
1  would  it  were  mine. 

If  I  deserve,  I  ought  to  have. 


I  pray  you  give  my  heart  again  ! 

That  is  desired  of  many, 
Is  hardly  kept  of  any. 

Faint  heart  delayeth  too  long. 

I  like  where  I  dare  not  love. 

Are  you  content  ? 
I  yield  consent ! 

Know  thyself! 

Keep  a  mean  ! 

Restraint  augments  desire. 

I  serve  in  secret. 

Dread  no  doubleness  1 

Be  quick  and  ready  ! 

Pity  my  passions  ! 

Bent  to  content. 

My  gain  is  grief. 

Record  my  love  ! 

I  am  glad  it  likes  you. 

The  want  of  thee, 
Is  grief  to  me. 

Your  consent, 
My  content 

As  joined  to  thee, 
So  joy  in  me. 

Thy  pitiless  heart 
Hath  wrought  my  smart. 

Resolve  my  doubts  ! 

Death  only  shall  separate. 

Live  and  enjoy ! 

Let  constant  love  content ! 

Hope  helpeth  grief. 

Your  faithful  friend  unto  the  end. 

Once  mine,  always  thine  ! 


16th  Cent.. 


Love    Posies. 


Yours  ever  thougli  never. 

No    recompense,    but    remem- 
brance. 

My  joy  consisteth  in  hope. 

Two  bodies,  one  heart. 

I  receive  it  thankfully. 

Think  on  the  giver  ! 

As  I  deserve,  so  I  desire. 


277 


No  time  altereth  me. 

Time  trieth  truth. 

For  ever  or  never. 

A  friend's  gift. 

Still  in  hope  ! 

Good  hope  upholds  the  heart 

True  love  alone 
Joins  two  in  one. 


Love's  Garland: 


OR 


Posies     for    Rings,    Handkerchers,    and 

Gloves;  and  such  pretty  Tokens  that 

Lovers  send  their  Loves. 


Read^  Skan,  then  Judge. 


L O  N  D ON 

Printed  by  N.  O.  for  John  Spencer,  and 

are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop  on  London 

Bridge.     1624. 


2»I 


Loves    Garland. 


I.  The  Posy  of  a  Handkercher  from  a  young  Man 

to  his  Love. 


Ove  is  a  chain  whose  links  of  gold, 
Two  hearts  within  one  bosom  hold. 

2.     Another  signifying  the  mutual  love 
that  should  be  between  Man 
and  Wife. 
In  love  this  good  doth  still  remain, 
Though  both  do  give,  yet  both  doth  gain. 


3.  Another  from  a  doubtful  Lover. 
By  Cupid's  bow,  by  weal  or  woe ! 

4.  A  Posy  sent  with  a  Pair  of  Gloves,  showing  what  a  young 

Man  should  most  respect  in  his  choice. 
I  love  thy  Beauty,  Virtue  most ! 
For  Virtue's  found  when  Beauty's  lost. 

5.  A  Posy  of  a  Ring,  from  a  crossed  Lover. 

No  hap  so  hard  as  love  debarred ! 

6.  Another. 

A  happy  breast  where  love  doth  rest ! 


All  perfect  love  is  from  above. 
The  sight  of  this  deserves  a  kiss. 


2S2  Love's     Garland.  [J2i 

S.         A  young  man  to  his  Love,  wronglit  in  a  Scarf. 
A  constant  heart  within  a  woman's  breast, 
Is  Ophir  gold  within  an  ivory  chest. 

9.  Her  kind  A  nswer. 

Of  such  a  treasure  then  are  thou  possesst, 
For  thou  hast  such  a  heart  in  such  a  breast 

10.  The  Posy  of  a  Ring. 

To  me  till  death,  as  dear  as  breath. 

11.  Another. 

In  thee  a  flame,  in  me  the  same. 

12.  Where  once  I  choose,  1  ne'er  refuse. 

13.  Another. 

No  cross  so  strange,  my  love  to  change. 

14.  The  Posy  of  a  Handkercher  from  a  young  Man 

to  his  Love. 
Pray  take  me  kindly,  Mistress  !  kiss  me  too ! 
My  master  swears  he'll  do  as  much  for  you  ! 

1 5.  A  passionate  Lover's  Posy. 
Till  that  from  thee  I  hope  to  gain  : 
All  sweet  is  sour  ;  all  pleasure,  pain  ! 

16.  Another  of  the  same  cut. 

Thy  love,  my  light ;  disdain,  my  night. 

17*  Another. 

Tell  my  Mistress  that  a  Lover 
True  as  Love  itself,  doth  love  her. 

1 8.      Another  where  the  Lover  doth  protest  and  request 
Hand,  heart,  and  all  I  have,  is  thine ! 
Hand,  heart,  and  all  thou  hast,  be  mine ! 


i624J     Posies  for  Rings,  Handkerchers,  &c.     283 

19.  Another. 

As  you  find  me,  mind  me  ! 

20.  The  Posy  of  a  young  Man  to  his  Love  shelving  the 

simplicity  and  truth  of  Love. 

Two  hands,  two  feet,  two  ears,  two  eyes : 
One  tongue,  one  heart,  where  true  love  lies. 

21.  Another  from  a  Lover,  far  from  his  Love. 
Though  from  mine  eye  ;  yet  from  my  heart, 
No  distance  e'er  can  make  thee  part ! 

22.  Another  of  the  same  mark. 
Though  absence  may  annoy : 
To  me,  'tis  a  double  joy. 

23.  A  Posy  in  a  Ring. 

Be  true  to  me,  as  I  to  thee. 

24.  Another. 

God  above  increase  our  love  1 

25.  Another. 

All  thine  is  mine. 

26.  Another. 

Ne'er  joy  in  heart  that  seeks  to  part. 

27.  Another  sent  with  a  pair  of  Bracelets. 

Fair  as  Venus  ;  as  Diana 
Chaste  and  pure  is  my  Susanna. 

28.  The  Posy  of  a  young  Man  to  his  Love,  shewing 

what  a  Woman  should  be. 

If  Woman  should  to  Man  be  woe, 

She  should  not  be  what  GOD  did  make  her : 

That  was  to  be  a  helper ;  so 

GOD  then  did  give,  Man  now  doth  take  her. 


284  L  o  v e's     Garland.  \_J2 


1624 


29.  The  Posy  of  a  Maid  cast  off,  expressing  how 

light\ly\  she  takes  it. 

Tell  him  that  had  my  heart  in  chase, 
And  now  at  other  games  doth  fly : 
Green  Sickness  ne'er  shall  spoil  my  face ; 
Nor  puling  "  Heigh  Ho's  !  "  wet  mine  eye  ! 

30.  The  Posy  of  a  Ring. 

I  do  rejoice  in  thee  my  choice. 

31.  A  Posy  of  a  scornful  Lover. 

Since  thy  hot  love  so  quickly's  done : 
Do  thou  but  go,  I'll  strive  to  run  ! 

32.  A  Posy  shewing  Man  and  Wife  to  be  one. 

Flesh  of  my  flesh,  bone  of  my  bone  ; 
From  one  made  two  are  two  made  one. 

3  3  •  Posies  for  R  iugs. 

As  true  to  thee,  as  death  to  me. 

34-  A 11  other. 

If  thou  deny,  I  wish  to  die. 

35«  Anot 'her. 

In  trust,  be  just. 

3&  Another. 

I  live  if  "  I  [Ay] " :  If  «  No,"  I  die 

37-  Another. 

No  bitter  smart  can  change  my  heart ! 

38.  Another. 

Rather  die  than  faith  deny  I 

39-  Another. 

Not  lust,  but  love  ;  as  time  shall  prove. 


1 

1624 


.]     Posies  for  Rings,  Handkerchers,  &c.     285 


40.  Another. 
To  love  as  I  do  thee, 
Is  to  love  none  but  me 

41.  A  Posy  sent  by  a  young  Man  to  his  Love  in  a 

Handkercher,  in  whicJi  zvas  wrought  the 
fashion  of  a  Heart  with  wings. 
Of  all  bad  things,  a  heart  with  wings  is  still  the  worst ; 
And  he  that  meets  with  one  so  fleet,  of  all's  accurst. 

42.  The  Maiden* s  reply  in  a  Handkercher,  in  which  was 

the  shape  of  a  Heart  with  an  arrow  through  it. 
A  flying  Heart,  a  piercing  dart  doth  well  deserve : 
So  be  it  with  me,  if  I  from  thee  shall  ever  swerve ! 

43.  Thou  mine,  I  thine. 

44.  A  not  her. 
Be  true  to  me  as  I  to  thee. 

45.  A  young  Maid  to  her  Love  in  a  Scarf. 
She  that  of  all  doth  love  thee  dearest, 
Doth  send  thee  this  ;  which  as  thou  wearest 
And  oft  dost  look  on,  think  on  me ! 
As  I  by  thine  do  think  on  thee. 

46.  From  a  young  Man  to  his  Love  wrought  in  a  Silk  Girdle. 

Till  death  divide,  whate'er  betide  ! 

47.  Another. 

The  World's  a  Lottery !     My  prize 
A  love  that's  fair,  as  chaste,  as  wise. 

48.  A  young  Man  to  his  Love,  describing  the  power  and 

ever  flourishing  virtue  of  Love. 
Love  till  Doomsday  in  his  prime  ; 
Like  APOLLO  robed  in  gold  : 
Though  it  have  been  as  long  as  Time  ; 
Yet  still  is  young,  though  Time  be  old. 


286  Love's     Garland.  [x6J 


624. 


49.  Another. 

My  promise  past  shall  ever  last. 

50.  From  a  young  man  to  his  Love  shewing  that  Virtue 

and  Beauty  should  be  together. 
Thy  beauty  much,  thy  virtue  such,  my  heart  hath  fired  : 
The  first  alone  is  worse  than  none ;  but  both,  admired. 

51.  The  Posy  of  a  pitiful  Lover  writ  in  a  Riband  Carnation 

three  pennies  broad,  a?id  wound  about  a  fair  branch 
of  Rosemary  ;  upon  which  he  wittily  plays  thus  : 
Rosemary,  ROSE,  I  send  to  thee ; 
In  hope  that  thou  wilt  marry  me. 
Nothing  can  be  sweet,  ROSE  ! 
More  sweeter  unto  Harry, 
Than  marry  ROSE : 
Sweeter  than  this  Rosemary. 

52.  The  Sweet  Reply,  in  a  conceit  of  the  same  cut,  sent 
by  Rose,  with  a  vial  of  Rosewater  of  her  making. 

Thy  sweet  commands  again,  my  sweetest  Harry  ! 
My  sweet  Rosewater  for  thy  sweet  Rosemary : 
By  which,  sweet  Hal,  sweet  ROSE  doth  let  thee  see, 
Thy  love's  as  sweet  to  her  as  hers  to  thee. 

53.  A  wanton  Lover's  wish  sent  in  a  Handkercher  with  a 

Cupid  wrouglit  in  the  middle. 
To  me  by  far  more  fair  is  my  fair  Anne 
Than  sweet-cheeked  Leda,  with  her  silver  swan  : 
That  I  ne'er  saw,  but  have  the  picture  seen  ; 
And  wished  myself  between  thine  arms,  sweet  Nan 

54.  For  a  Ring. 
Desire  like  fire  doth  still  aspire. 

55-  A  Posy  sent  with  a  pair  of  Bracelets 

Mine  eye  did  see,  my  heart  did  choose ; 
True  love  doth  bind  till  death  doth  loose. 


ife4.]     Posies  for  Rings,  Handkerchers,  &c.     287 

56.  Another  sent  with  a  silk  Girdle. 

Accept  of  this,  my  heart  withal ; 
My  love  is  great,  though  this  be  small. 

57»  Another  sent  with  a  rich  pair  of  Gloves. 

This  for  a  certain  truth  true  love  approves. 
"  The  heart's  not  where  it  lives,  but  where  it  loves." 

58.  For  Rings. 

Heart's  content  can  ne'er  repent 

59.  Another. 

My  heart  and  I  until  I  die. 

60.  Not  two  but  one  till  life  be  gone. 

61.  A  Lover's  conceit  upon  a  Bracelet  and  Partlet 

[neck-kerchief,  or  ruff] ;  sent  with  a 

pair  of  amber  Bracelets. 
Bracelets  I'll  give,  embrace  let's  ever ! 
Let  Partlets  go,  for  part  let's  never. 

62.  Love  ever,  or  love  never. 

63.  A  Posy  sent  by  a  young  Man  to  his  Love,  with  a 

Looking  Glass. 
Be  true  as  fair,  then  past  compare ! 

64.  For  a  Ring. 

A  woman  kind,  all  joy  of  mind. 

65.  As  I  to  thee,  so  wish  to  me ! 

66.  A  drooping  Lover's  conceit,  playing  upon  the  word. 

Hard  and  Heart  in  sound  are  near ; 
And  both  within  thy  breast  I  fear. 

67.  Her  coy  and  nipping  Reply,  in  his  ozv/t  invention. 

The  sound's  as  near  in  Brace  and  Brass, 
In  Hose  and  Horse,  in  Ace  and  Ass. 


288  L  o  v  e's     Garland.  [J^ 

63.  The  Posy  of  a  young  Man,  sent  with  a  Scarf. 

For  one  and  love,  some  say  are  blind : 
I  say  they  see,  if  thou  prove  kind. 

69.  The  Posy  of  a  Handkercher. 
Love  and  Wine  in  this  degree, 
The  elder  better  still  they  be : 

So  our  long  suit  then  shall  be  true, 
"  Change  not  thy  old  Love  for  a  new !" 

70.  A  Posy  sent  by  a  young  Maiden  to  her  Love,  plaitea 

in  a  Bracelet  of  her  own  hair. 
When  this  about  thine  arm  doth  rest, 
Remember  her  that  loves  thee  best ! 

71.  Another  from  a  young  Man  to  his  Love 

protesting  constancy. 
To  thee  as  constant  as  the  sun  to  day  : 
Till  from  this  light,  I  must  be  forced  away. 

72.  A  Posy  sent  with  a  silk  Girdle. 
Venus  naked  in  her  chamber, 
Wounds  more  deep  than  Mars  in  armour. 

73»  The  Maids  Answer. 

If  such  a  wound  you  fear  ; 
Take  heed  you  come  not  there ! 

74.      A  drooping  Lover  s  Posy,  sent  with  a  pair  of  Gloves. 
'Tween  hope  and  sad  despair  I  sail ; 

Thy  help  I  crave ! 
My  grief  the  sea,  thy  breath  the  sail 
May  sink  or  save. 

7S-  Another  of  the  same  kind. 

Hope  and  despair  attend  me  still : 
Hope  strives  to  save  ;  despair,  to  kill ! 


lei,.]     Posies  for  Rings,  Handkerchers,  &c.     289 

76.  Lust  loves  to  range  : 
Love  knows  no  change. 

77.  Thine  mine,  mine  thine. 

7$.  Both  must  be  one,  or  one  be  none. 

79.  Love  ever,  or  love  never ! 

80.  A  neglected  Lover,  to  his  Mistress, 
'Tis  true  as  old,  "  Hot  Love,  soon  cold  I" 

81.  A  nother  expressing  the  power  of  L  ove. 

Who  is't  withstands, 
When  Love  commands  ? 

Short  Posies  for  Rings  in  prose. 

82.  The  loadstone  of  Love  is  love, 

83.  Be  true  to  the  end ! 

84.  I  live  in  hope. 

85.  I  like  my  choice. 

86.  No  change  in  Virtue's  choice ! 

87.  Keep  me  in  mind  ! 

88.  Desire  hath  no  rest. 

89.  I  present,  thee  absent. 

90.  Not  the  gift  but  the  giver. 

91.  Be  firm  in  faith! 

92.  This  and  myself. 

93.  I  choose  thee,  not  to  change. 
II  T 


95 
96, 

97 
98 

99 
ioo, 

IOI 

102 
I03 


290  L  0  v  e' s    Garland.  [i6?24 

94.  Advised  choice  admits  no  change. 

Accept  my  goodwill  1 
I  love  no  lack. 
The  heart  lives  where  it  loves. 
Not  me,  nor  mine ;  but  ours. 
Thy  [?],  my  wish. 
Love  is  the  bond  of  Peace. 
No  life  to  Love ! 
Remember  this,  and  give  a  kiss ! 
Thy  love  I  crave,  mine  thou  shalt  have. 

Good  Counsel. 

If  poor  thou  art,  yet  patient  bide  1 
For  after  ebb  may  come  a  tide  : 
Yet  at  full  sea,  keep  water  store ! 
That  afterward  thou  want  no  more. 

On  the  World. 

The  World's  a  City  furnished  with  spacious  streets : 

And  Death's  the  Market  Place ;  whereat  all  creatures  meet. 

When  GOD  made  all,  he  made  all  good ; 
So  Woman  was,  if  she  had  stood  : 
Though  Woman  was  the  cause  of  fall ; 
Yet  Jesus'  blood  made  amends  for  all. 

On  a  Good  Woman. 

A  wise  man  poor  is  like  a  Sacred  Book  that's  never  read. 
To  himself  he  lives,  though  to  the  World  seems  dead  : 
Yet  this  Age  counts  more  of  a  golden  fool 
Than  of  a  thread-bare  Saint,  nursed  up  in  Wisdom's  School. 

FINIS. 


CUPID's  Posies, 

For  Bracelets,  Handkerchers,  and  Rings; 
With    Scarfs,   Gloves,  and   other   things. 


Written  by  Cupid  on  a  day, 

When  Venus  gave  him  leave  to  play. 


Verbum  sat  amantu 

The  Lover  sheweth  his  intent 
By  gifts,  that  are  with  Posies  sent. 


LONDON. 

Printed  by  E.  C.  for  J.  Wright,  next  to 

the  Globe  in  Little  Britain 

1674. 


■ 


293 


To  his  Mother   Venus, 

Cupid  dedicateth 

his  Posies. 

Other,  your  love  to  me  was  shown 
Before  that  I  could  go  alone  ; 
For  with  Nectar  then  you  fed  me, 
And  in  tender  manner  bred  me : 
Till  perceiving  once  that  I 
Was  able  on  my  wings  to  fly ; 
I  did  descend  unto  the  Earth, 
With  my  bow  to  make  some  mirth. 
For  all  the  World  is  my  Park  ; 
Where,  when  I  shoot,  I  hit  the  mark. 
Young  Men  and  Maidens  are  my  game  ; 
While  I,  the  little  Bowman  am. 
Yet  lest  you  may  think  my  leisure 
I  do  only  waste  in  pleasure  ; 
These  Posies  I  have  writ  of  late  : 
Which  to  you  I  dedicate, 
That  so  the  love  may  be  exprest, 
Of  your  Son  that  loves  you  best. 


294 


Cupid's  Posies. 

That  Cupid  called  am, 

And  shall  never  be  a  Man  ; 

But  am  still  the  blinded  Boy 

That  breeds  Lovers  much  annoy  : 

Having  gotten,  on  a  day, 

From  my  Mother  leave  to  play  ; 

And  obtained  use  of  sight, 

I  in  wantonness  did  write 

These  same  Posies  which  I  send, 

And  to  Lovers  do  commend. 

Which  if  they  be  writ  within 

The  little  circle  of  a  Ring  ; 

Or  be  sent  unto  your  Loves, 

With  fine  Handkerchers,  Gloves  : 

I  do  know  that,  like  my  dart, 

They  have  power  to  wound  the  heart ; 

For  instead  of  Flowers  and  Roses, 

Here  are  Words  bound  up  in  Posies. 


295 


CUPID's  Posies. 


1.  A  Posy  written  on  a  pair  of  Bracelets,  and 

sent  by  a  young  Man  to  his  Love. 
My  Love,  these  Bracelets  take,  and  think  of  them  no  harm  ; 
But  since  they  Bracelets  be,  let  them  embrace  thy  arm ! 

2.  Another. 
Receive  this  Sacrifice  in  part 
From  the  Altar  of  my  heart ! 

3.  I  do  owe  both  Love  and  Duty 
To  your  Virtue  and  your  Beauty. 

4.  A  Posy  sent  with  a  pair  of  Gloves. 

You  are  that  one 

For  whom  alone 
My  heart  doth  only  care  : 

Then  do  but  join 

Your  heart  with  mine, 
And  we  will  make  a  pair. 

5.  Another. 

I  send  to  you  a  pair  of  Gloves 

If  you  love  me, 

Leave  out  the  G. ! 
And  make  a  pair  of  Loves. 

6.  Another. 

Though  these  Gloves  be  white  and  fair, 
Yet  thy  hands  more  whiter  are. 


.296  Cupid's    Posies,    for  [i6?7+ 

7  Another. 

These  Gloves  are  happy  that  kiss  your  hands, 
Which  long  have  held  my  heart  in  Cupid's  bands. 

8.  The  Posy  of  a  Lover  to  his  disdaining  Mistress. 

Ut  Stella  in  tenebris, 

Sic  A  mor  in  adversis. 

Englished. 

As  the  Stars  in  darkest  night,  so  Love  despised  shining. 

9.  The  Posy  of  a  Handkercher  sent  from  a  young  Man 

to  his  Love,  being  wrought  in  blue  silk. 
This  Handkercher  to  you  assures 
That  this  and  what  I  have  is  yours. 

10.  Another. 
Love  is  like  a  hidden  flame, 
Which  will  at  last  blaze  forth  again. 

1 1.  Another  in  Letters. 

My  love  is  true  which  I.  O.  U. : 
As  true  to  me,  then  C.  U.  B. 

12.  The  Posy  of  a  Ring  sent  to  a  Maid  from  her  Lover. 

My  constant  love  shall  ne'er  remove. 

13.  Another. 

This  and  I,  until  I  die ! 

14.  Memento  meil 

When  this  you  see,  remember  me ! 

15.  Like  to  a  circle  round,  no  end  in  love  is  found  : 
Take  me  with  it ;  for  both  are  fit. 

16.  A  young  Man's  conceit  to  his  dear  Love,  being 

wrought  on  a  Scarf. 
This  Scarf  is  but  an  emblem  of  my  love  ; 
Which  I  have  sent,  with  full  intent  my  service  to  approve. 


l6?74J     Bracelets,  Handkerchers,  and  Rings.      297 

1  J.  Another  wherein  the  Lover  seeketh  her  Love. 

One  was  the  Bow,  one  was  the  Dart, 
That  wounded  us  both  to  the  heart : 
Then  since  we  both  do  feel  one  pain, 
Let  one  love  cure  us  both  again  ! 

1 8.  A  young  Man's  Posy  to  his  Sweetheart  shewing 

that  love  is  most  violent  in  absence. 

Love  is  a  flame  that,  with  a  violent  desire, 

Doth  burn  us  most  when  we  are  farthest  from  the  fire. 

19.  As  those  that  die  are  said  for  to  depart ; 

So  when  you  went  away,  all  life  forsook  my  heart : 
For  though  with  inward  pain,  I  draw  my  very  breath ; 
Yet  this  I  will  maintain,  Departure  is  a  Death. 


20.  A  Lover  coming  into  a  Maidens  chamber  in  her  absence, 

did  write  this  Posy  on  her  Looking-Glass. 

In  this  same  Looking-Glass,  my  watery  eyes  I  see ; 

But  I  do  wish  that  thou  couldst  shew  her  cheerful  eyes  to  me. 

Yet  why  do  I  accuse  thee  here  ? 

'Tis  not  thy  fault !  for  thou  art  clear ! 

21.  Posies  of  Rings  for  young  Lovers,  which  have 

nezvly  discovered  their  affection. 

Let  me  serve  till  I  desire ! 


22.  Another. 

Had  I  not  spoke,  my  heart  had  broke ! 
The  utmost  scope  of  Love  is  Hope ! 


23.  Love's  delight  is  to  unite  : 

I  now  do  sue  for  love  to  you ! 


24.  Love  I  have,  yet  love  I  crave ! 


298  Cupid's    Posies,    for  [i6?74. 

25.  A  Posy  of  a  young  Prentice  sent  to  his  Love,  with 

a  pair  of  amber  Bracelets. 

Let  these  same  bind 

You  to  be  kind 
Unto  me  for  love's  own  sake ! 

And  when  we  meet, 

With  kisses  sweet 
We  will  Indentures  make  ! 
And  I  will  bind  myself  to  be 
In  love  a  Prentice  unto  thee ! 

26.  A  young  Man  to  his  Sweetheart,  setting  forth  tJie 

better  effects  of  a  disdained  love. 

Love  is  like  a  Golden  tree, 

Whose  fruit  most  pleasant  seems  to  be ; 

Whiles  Disdain  doth  never  sleep 

But  this  Tree  of  Love  doth  keep  : 

Yet  I  hope  you  will  at  last 

Think  upon  my  service  past ! 

27.  A  Posy  sent  by  a  young  Man  to  a  pretty  young  Maid 

in  the  same  town,  with  a  very  fair  Point  of 
coronation  [rose  pink]  coloured  Ribbon. 

My  dearest  Love,  I  send  this  Ribbon  Point  to  thee, 

In  hope  the  young  Men  of  the  town  shall  not  still  point  at  me  : 

Because  I  am  thy  lover  true  ; 

Then  grant  me  thy  love,  sweet  SUE  1 

28.  The  Posy  of  a  Ring. 
Thou  art  my  heart. 

29.  More  dearer  to  me  than  life  can  be. 

30.  Another. 

Love  is  joy,  without  annoy. 

31*  Another. 

'Tis  in  your  will,  to  save  or  kill. 


l6?74>]     Bracelets,  Handkerchers,  and  Rings.      299 

32.  A  Posy  wrought  in  red  silk  Letters  upon  an 

ash  coloured  Scarf. 
Every  Letter  here  doth  show 
That  my  heart  is  linked  to  you : 
And  by  this  token  is  exprest 
That  you  are  She  whom  I  love  best. 

33.  The  Posy  of  a  Handkercher  very  fairly  laced  about> 

with  a  flaming  Heart  wrought  in  the  middle 
Great  is  the  grief  that  I  sustain, 
Which  is  here  figured  by  a  flame 
That  doth  torment  me  in  each  part, 
But  chiefly  seizeth  on  my  heart : 
Yet  rather  than  my  heart  shall  turn 
From  my  faith,  in  love  I'll  burn. 

34.  From  a  young  Man,  to  his  offended  Mistress. 

Dearest,  if  I  have  offended  ; 

Enjoin  me  then  some  penance  hard, 
That  my  fault  may  be  amended 

Ere  your  favour  be  debarred  : 
For  if  I  must  penance  do, 

I'll  go  unto  no  Saint  but  you  ! 

35.  A  Posy  sent  to  a  Maid,  being  cunningly  interwoven 

in  a  silk  Bracelet. 
Kindly  take  this  gift  of  mine, 
For  Gift  and  Giver  both  are  thine  1 

36.  Posies  for  Rings. 
Faithful  love  can  ne'er  remove. 

37.  Another. 

If  you  consent,  I  am  content 

38.  To  his  Sweetheart,  that  had  objected  against  him 

for  want  of  means. 
Come,  my  Love,  if  love  you  grant, 
What  is  it  that  love  can  want  ? 
In  thee,  I  have  sufficient  store. 
Grant  me  thy  love,  I  wish  no  more ! 


300  Cupid's    Posies,    for  [i6?7 


674. 


39.  A  Posy  sent  from  a  Maid  to  a  young  Man,  with  a 

very  fair  wrought  Purse. 

My  heart's  Purse,  you  are  my  wealth ! 
And  I  will  keep  you  to  myself! 

40.  The  Posy  of  a  Ring. 

True  love  well  placed  is  ne'er  disgraced. 

41.  I  am  your  friend  unto  the  end. 

42.  Yours  I  am  ;  be  mine  again  ! 

43.  Love  itself  discloses  by  Gifts  with  Posies. 

44.  A  Posy  sent  with  a  pair  of  Gloves. 

What  should  I  write  ?     Some  words  do  move 
Suspicion  unto  those  that  love  : 
Then,  without  any  further  art, 
In  one  word,  you  have  my  heart! 

45.  Her  Reply. 

Lest  for  a  heart  you  should  complain  ; 
With  mine  I  send  yours  back  again  ! 
For  Love  to  me  this  power  doth  give, 
That  my  heart  in  your  heart  doth  live. 

46.  A  young  Man's  Posy  wrought  in  a  HandkercJier. 

A  maiden  virtuous  chaste  and  fair 

Is  a  jewel  past  compare  : 
And  such  are  you,  in  whom  I  find 

Virtue  is  with  Beauty  joined. 

47.  A  Maiden's  Posy  sent  with  a  willow  coloured  Point 

to  a  young  Man  that  had  forsaken  her. 

Your  love  was  like  a  spark  which  in  the  ashes  lies, 
That  shineth  for  a  time,  but  afterwards  it  dies : 
Since  therefore  you  did  faithless  prove  ; 
I  do  here  renounce  your  love  ! 


l6'4]     Bracelets,  Handkerchers,  and  Rings.      301 

48.  Posies  for  Rings. 

Be  true  to  me,  as  I  to  thee. 

I  love  none  but  thee  alone. 

I  do  rejoice  in  thee  my  choice. 

One  love,  one  troth,  between  us  both. 

Constant  true  love  comes  from  above. 

You  are  my  friend  unto  the  end. 

49.  To  his  Sweetheart,  to  whom  he  sent  a  Purse  with 

these  verses  in  it. 
Sweet-heart,  my  love  to  you  I  commend  ; 
And  therewithal  this  purse  to  you  I  send  : 
Which  is  not  filled  with  silver  or  with  gold  ; 
Only  my  heart  it  doth  contain  and  hold. 

50.  To  a  Maid  these  lines  were  sent,  with  a  Scarf. 

This  scarf  will  keep  off  the  rude  wind 
Which  to  your  lips  the  way  would  find. 
I  would  have  none  know  the  bliss 
But  myself,  at  your  sweet  kiss  : 
Which  I  would  have  none  else  to  taste, 
Lest  your  stock  of  kisses  waste. 

5 1.  On  a  Knife. 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
Nothing  can  cut  our  love  in  two. 

52.      To  a  Gentlewoman  who  appointed  one  to  buy  her  a 
Mask  ;  which  he  bought,  and  sent  it 

with  this  Posy. 
It  is  a  pity  you  should  wear  a  mask ! 
This  is  the  reason  if  you  ask, 
Because  it  hides  your  Face  so  fair 
Where  roses  mixed  with  lilies  are : 


302  Cupid's    Posies,    for  [^ 

It  clouds  your  beauty  so  that  we 
Your  cherry  Lips  can  seldom  see : 
And  from  your  Face  keeps  off  our  eyes  ; 
Which  is  indeed  Love's  Paradise. 

53.  Verses  sent  with  a  pair  of  Bracelets. 
These  bracelets  like  a  circle  shall 

Environ  round  your  arm. 
Happy  are  they,  whate'er  befall, 

That  shall  be  kept  warm. 
And  may  they,  like  two  Circles  prove, 

To  charm  your  heart  for  to  love  me ! 
Let  Cupid  the  Magician  be, 

To  charm  your  heart  for  to  love  me ! 

54.  Posies  for  Rings. 

I  will  remain  always  the  same. 

You  and  I  will  Lovers  die. 

My  vow  is  past,  while  life  doth  last. 

Lovers'  knot  once  tied,  who  can  divide  ? 

Verbum  sat  amanti. 

Amo  te,  si  am  as  me. 
I  love  thee,  if  thou  love  me. 

55.  To  a  fair  Maid,  sent  with  a  Posy  of  Flowers. 

Beauty  is  like  a  flower,  sweet  Maid  ! 
Which  quickly  doth  decay  and  fade : 
Then  wisely  now  make  use  of  time, 
Since  you  are  now  even  in  your  prime. 

56.  Two  lines  embroidered  on  the  top  of  a  Pair 

of  Gloves. 

I  wish  that  we  two  were  a  pair 
As  these  happy  Gloves  here  are. 


l6?74-]     Bracelets,  Handkerchers,  and  Rings.      30; 

57.    Nick,  a  farmer's  son,  sendeth  to  Joan  Hobson  a  yard 
of  blue  Ribbon  with  these  lines. 

I  send  you  here  of  ribbon  a  whole  yard : 
And  money  goeth  with  me  very  hard  ; 
For  else  this  yard,  two  yards  should  be, 
Since  I  do  hold  nothing  too  dear  for  thee. 
And  part  therefore  my  love,  if  that  thou  wilt, 
In  this  same  ribbon  ;  which  is  made  of  silk. 


58.  A  Posy  wrought  on  a  Handkercher  in  silk  Letters. 

Do  not  too  lightly  of  me  think, 
Who  write  in  Letters  'stead  of  ink. 
To  send  this  token  I  made  shift ; 
Esteem  the  giver,  and  not  the  gift ! 

59.  A  Posy  on  a  Thimble. 
He  that  sent  me,  loveth  thee. 

60.  A  Cabinet  being  sent  to  a  Gentlewoman,  these  verses 

were  put  in  one  of  the  drawers. 

This  little  Cabinet  will  conceal 
All  things  which  you  would  not  reveal ; 
Your  letters  and  your  other  things, 
As  your  jewels  and  your  rings. 
Let  me  know  then  in  what  part, 
Or  box,  you  will  lay  up  my  heart ! 
Which  with  it  I  do  send  ;  and  pray 
That  in  your  heart  you  would  it  lay. 
Let  me  such  favour  from  you  get : 
Make  your  heart,  my  heart's  Cabinet. 

61.  To  a  Maid,  a  young  Man  sendeth  a  silk  Girdle. 

This  girdle  haply  shall  be  placed 

To  compass  round  your  neat  small  waist 

I  were  happy  if,  in  this  place, 

I  might  thy  slender  waist  embrace. 


304  Cupid's    Posies,    for  [i6774. 

62.         A  Posy  of  four  lines,  written  in  red  letters,  tlie 
four  sides  of  a  HandkercJier. 

Things  of  most  constancy  still  are 
Resembled  to  solid  Square  ; 
So  my  triangular  heart  shall  be 
A  four  square  figure  of  constancy. 

6$.  Posies  for  Rings. 

Be  thou  mine,  as  I  am  thine. 

In  weal  and  woe,  my  love  I'll  show. 

I  will  be  true  always  to  you. 

There  is  no  joy 

Like  love  without  annoy. 

Love  crossed  is  best, 
And  prospers  best. 

Joy  doth  abound,  where  love  is  found. 

My  vow  that's  past,  till  death  shall  last. 

I  love  none  but  you  alone. 

To  thee  my  heart  I  give,  whilst  I  here  do  live. 

Love  joineth  hands  in  wedlock's  bands. 

64.  A  Posy  engraven  about  a  Jewel,  sent  to  a 

Gentlewoman. 

There  is  no  jewel  I  can  see 
Like  love  that's  set  in  constancy. 

65.  A  Posy  to  an  unkind  disdainful  Maid. 

Each  frown  of  yours  is  like  a  dart 
That  woundeth  me  unto  the  heart 


l6?74J      Bracelets,  Handkerchers,  and  Rings.      305 

What  conquest  were  it,  if  that  I 
By  your  cruel  frown  should  die  ; 
Since  love  my  only  trespass  is  ? 
And  shall  I  die,  alas,  for  this  ? 

66.  Her  Reply. 

If  alas,  for  love  you  chance  to  die  ; 

'Tis  your  own  folly  kills  your  heart ;  not  I. 

67.  A  Posy  engraven  on  a  gold  Ring. 

By  this  ring  of  gold, 

Take  me  to  have  and  hold  ! 

68.  Another. 

What  joy  in  life  to  a  good  Wife  ? 

69.  A  Posy  embroidered  on  a  Scarf. 
Fairest,  wear  this  scarf  that  I  do  send, 

That  may  your  beauty  from  the  wind  defend ; 
For  I  do  know  the  winds,  if  like  to  me, 
To  kiss  your  lips  and  cheeks  desirous  be. 

70.  On  the  choice  of  a  Wife. 

If  thou  intend'st  to  choose  a  Wife, 
With  whom  to  lead  a  happy  life  ; 
Look  not  for  Beauty,  since  there  are 
Few  that  can  be  chaste  and  fair. 
But  if  thou  do  her  Virtues  find, 
Which  are  the  beauty  of  the  mind, 
Woo  her  then  to  gain  consent ! 
For  virtuous  love  can  ne'er  repent. 


11 


u 


3o6 


Cupid's  Conclusion. 

Upid's  Posies  now  at  last  are  done. 
For  if  you  read  them  all,  you  will  like  some. 
For  these  new  Posies  are  both  sweet  and 
brief, 
And  will  disclose  the  sighing  Lover's  grief. 
For  Cupid,  having  too  much  idle  leisure, 
Composed  these  Posies  for  his  pleasure. 


Fair  Maids,  my  Posies  now  are  done  ; 

Which  for  your  sakes  I  first  begun. 

And  young  Men  here  may  always  choose 

Such  Posies  as  they  mean  to  use. 

I  Cupid  writ  them  on  a  day, 

When  Venus  gave  me  leave  to  play  ; 

And  if  you  like  them,  for  my  pain  : 

Then  Cupid  means  to  write  again. 

FINIS. 


Tosies  for  Things,  or  ^Mottoes 
fit  for  Presents, 


Collected  by 
W.  P. 


3oS 


m 

Em 

NK. 

n 

Posies  for  Rings,  or  Mottoes  jit  for  Presents^ 

collected   by 

W.  P. 

[The  Wits  Academy,  1677] 

Love  you  well,  yourself  can  tell. 

Let  Virtue  guide  my  lawful  Bride ! 

Sure  you  mistake!  That  bargain  's  to  make. 

My  tender  heart,  disdain  makes  smart. 

My  love  shall  ever  faithful  prove  ! 

I  moan  because  I  lie  alone. 
Absence  ne'er  parts  two  loving  hearts. 
This  and  the  giver  are  thine  for  ever. 
I  vow  to  kiss  her  that  reads  this. 
The  love  I  owe  in  this  I  show. 
No  turtle  dove  shall  shew  more  love  ! 
As  I  affect  thee,  so  respect  me. 
The  gift  is  small,  but  Love  is  all. 
When  this  you  see,  remember  me  ! 
This  to  a  friend  I  freely  send. 
Well  directed,  if  well  accepted. 
I'll  not  express  what  you  may  guess. 
When  this  you  see,  think  well  of  me  ! 
Virtue  and  Love  are  from  above. 
More  near  to  me  than  life  can  be. 
Though  friends  cross  love,  we'll  meet  above  I 
'Tis  Love  alone  makes  two  but  one. 
You  and  I  will  Lovers  die. 
I  seek  to  be  both  thine  and  thee. 
I  am  sure  to  die,  if  you  deny. 
In  thee  each  part  doth  catch  a  heart. 


Posies   for    Rings.  309 

My  true  love  is  endless  as  this. 

When  CUPID  fails,  the  eye  prevails. 

Your  blest  sight  is  my  delight. 

I  wish  to  have,  but  blush  to  crave. 

I  wish  you  knew  what  I  owe  you. 

My  constant  love  shall  ne'er  remove. 

Take  this  in  part  of  my  true  heart. 

For  one  sweet  kiss  I  give  you  this. 

Nothing  for  thee  too  dear  can  be  ! 

Desire  like  fire  doth  still  aspire. 

In  troth  you  know  it  must  be  so. 

My  love  you  know,  then  say  not  "  No  ! " 

If  you  this  forego,  you  are  my  foe  ! 

I  love  thee  JOAN,  and  thee  alone  ! 

I  love  thee  JOHN  ;  therefore  come  on  ! 

My  mind  is  bent,  and  I  am  content. 

I'll  venture  till  I  find  Love's  centre. 

I  were  an  ass,  should  I  let  you  pass. 

In  midst  of  grief,  Love  sends  relief. 

Where  hearts  agree,  no  strife  can  be. 

I  joy  to  find  a  constant  mind. 

Love  never  dies  where  Virtue  lies. 

Love's  delight  is  to  unite. 

Let  friend  nor  foe  this  secret  know ! 

I  must  confess  love  goes  by  guess. 

The  nigher  kin,  the  further  in. 

What  I  have  done  declare  to  none  ! 

My  name  is  Harry,  and  Doll  I'll  marry  ! 

Come  when  you  will,  I  am  yours  still. 

I'll  take  my  oath,  to  part  I  am  loath. 

I'll  swear  and  vow  that  I  love  you  ! 

I  hope  to  meet  some  kisses  sweet. 

Though  this  be  small,  you  shall  have  all ! 

When  I  am  well  ;  have  at  thee,  Nell  I 

I  hope  your  mind  's  to  love  inclined. 

Forgive,  or  else  I  cannot  live. 


io  Posies    for    Rings.  [^; 

You'll  ever  find  me  very  kind. 

I  am  full  of  love  towards  you  my  dove. 

I  this  present  with  good  intent. 

What  more  I  owe,  you'll  shortly  know. 

True  friends,  by  love  are  made  amends. 

Cupid's  command  ;  who  can  withstand  ? 

Think  well  of  me  when  this  you  see. 

When  you  see  this,  blow  me  a  kiss  ! 

My  only  joy,  be  not  so  coy  ! 

I  love  till  death  shall  stop  my  breath. 

Unto  the  end,  I'll  be  your  friend  1 


Single  Poems. 

By  Raleigh,  The  Earl  of  Oxford, 
Thomas  Lodge,  and  others. 


312 


Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 
Conceipt  begotten  by  the  eyes, 

[Poetical  Rhapsody. ] 

Onceipt  begotten  by  the  eyes, 
Is  quickly  born  and  quickly  dies  ; 
For  while  it  seeks  our  hearts  to  have 
Meanwhile  there  Reason  makes  his  grave. 
For  many  things  the  eyes  approve, 
Which  yet  the  heart  doth  seldom  love. 

For  as  the  seeds  in  springtime  sown, 
Die  in  the  ground  ere  they  be  grown ; 
Such  is  Conceipt,  whose  rooting  fails, 
As  child  that  in  the  cradle  quails ; 
Or  else  within  the  mother's  womb, 
Hath  his  beginning  and  his  tomb. 

Affection  follows  Fortune's  wheels, 
And  soon  is  shaken  from  her  heels  : 
For  following  beauty  or  estate, 
Her  liking  still  is  turned  to  hate. 
For  all  affections  have  their  change, 
And  Fancy  only  loves  to  range. 

Desire  himself  runs  out  of  breath, 
And  getting,  does  but  gain  his  death : 
Desire,  nor  reason  hath,  nor  rest, 
And  blind  doth  seldom  choose  the  best, 
Desire  attained  is  not  desire, 
But  as  the  cinders  of  the  fire. 


CONCEIPT    BEGOTTEN    BY    THE    EYES. 

As  ships  in  ports  desired  are  drowned, 
As  fruit  once  ripe,  then  falls  to  ground, 
As  flies  that  seek  for  flames,  are  brought 
To  cinders  by  the  flames  they  sought : 
So  fond  Desire  when  it  attains 
The  life  expires,  the  woe  remains. 

And  yet  some  poets  fain  would  prove 
Affection  to  be  perfect  love ; 
And  that  Desire  is  of  that  kind 
No  less  a  passion  of  the  Mind  : 
As  if  wild  beasts  and  men  did  seek 
To  like,  to  love,  to  choose  alike. 


313 


W.  R. 


3l4 


Edward  de  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford. 
IV hat  cunning  can  express  ? 


|"R.  S.,  Phanix  Nest.  1593.  "1 

Lj.  Bodenham,  England's  Helicon.   1600.  J 

Hat  cunning  can  express 
The  favour  of  her  face  ? 
To  whom,  in  this  distress, 
I  do  appeal  for  grace. 

A  thousand  Cupids  fly 
About  her  gentle  eye. 

From  whence,  each  throws  a  dart 

That  kindleth  soft  sweet  fire 
Within  my  sighing  heart, 
Possessed  by  desire. 
No  sweeter  life  I  try, 
Than  in  her  love  to  die. 


The  lily  in  the  field 

That  glories  in  his  white  ; 
For  pureness  now  must  yield 
And  render  up  his  right. 

Heaven  pictured  in  her  face, 
Doth  promise  joy  and  grace. 


What  cunning  can  express?  315 

Fair  Cynthia's  silver  light 

That  beats  on  running  streams, 
Compares  not  with  her  white, 
Whose  hairs  are  all  sunbeams. 
Her  virtues  so  do  shine 
As  day,  unto  mine  eyne. 


With  this  there  is  a  red 

Exceeds  the  damask  rose  : 
Which  in  her  cheeks  is  spread, 
Whence  every  favour  grows. 
In  sky  there  is  no  star, 
That  she  surmounts  not  far. 

When  Phcebus  from  the  bed 

Of  Thetis  doth  arise  ; 

The  morning  blushing  red 

In  fair  carnation-wise, 

He  shows  it  in  her  face 
As  queen  of  every  grace. 

This  pleasant  lily  white, 

This  taint  of  roseate  red, 
This  Cynthia's  silver  light, 
The  sweet  fair  Dea  spread, 

These  sunbeams  in  mine  eye ; 
These  beauties  make  me  die. 

E.  O. 


3i6 


Thomas     Lodge,     M.D. 

[ROSALYND.     1590.] 

Rosjltnd's    Madrigal, 

Ove  in  my  bosom  like  a  bee, 

doth  suck  his  sweet ; 
Now  with  his  wings  he  plays  with  me, 
now  with  his  feet. 
Within  mine  eyes  he  makes  his  nest, 
His  bed  amidst  my  tender  breast, 
My  kisses  are  his  daily  feast ; 
And  yet  he  robs  me  of  my  rest  ? 
"Ah,  wanton!  will  ye?" 


And  if  I  sleep,  then  percheth  he, 

with  pretty  flight, 
And  makes  his  pillow  of  my  knee 

the  livelong  night. 
Strike  I  my  lute,  he  tunes  the  string. 
He  music  plays,  if  so  I  sing. 
He  lends  me  every  lovely  thing, 
Yet  cruel !  he,  my  heart  doth  sting. 

"  Whist,  wanton  !  still  ye  I 


Rosalynd's   madrigal.  317 

Else  I  with  roses,  every  day 

will  whip  you  hence  ! 
And  bind  you,  when  you  want  to  play; 

for  your  offence  ! 
I'll  shut  my  eyes  to  keep  you  in ! 
I'll  make  you  fast  it  for  your  sin  ! 
I'll  count  your  power  not  worth  a  pin  t" 
Alas,  what  hereby  shall  I  win, 

If  he  gainsay  me  ? 


"What  if  I  beat  the  wanton  boy 

with  many  a  rod  ? 
He  will  repay  me  with  annoy, 

because  a  god. 
"  Then  sit  thou  safely  on  my  knee ! 
And  let  thy  bower  my  bosom  be  1 
Lurk  in  mine  eyes  !  I  like  of  thee. 
O  Cupid  !  so  thou  pity  me  ! 

Spare  not,  but  play  thee  1" 


3i8 


Thill  ad  a  flouts  me. 


H  !  what  a  pain  is  love, 
How  shall  I  bear  it  ? 
She  will  inconstant  prove, 
I  greatly  fear  it. 
She  so  torments  my  mind, 
That  my  strength  faileth  ; 
And  wavers  with  the  wind, 
As  a  ship  that  saileth. 
Please  her  the  best  I  may, 
She  looks  another  way 
Alack  and  well  a  day  ! 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


All  the  fair,  yesterday, 
She  did  pass  by  me  ; 
She  lookt  another  way, 
And  would  not  spy  me. 
I  wooed  her  for  to  dine, 
But  could  not  get  her. 
Will  had  her  to  the  wine  ; 
He  might  entreat  her. 
With  Daniel  she  did  dance, 
On  me  she  lookt  askance. 
O  thrice  unhappy  chance  ! 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


[Wit  Restored.] 


Phillada   flouts   me.  319 

Fair  maid  !  be  not  so  coy. 
Do  not  disdain  me  ! 
I  am  my  mother's  joy. 
Sweet !   entertain  me. 
She'll  give  me,  when  she  dies, 
All  that  is  fitting  : 
Her  poultry  and  her  bees, 
And  her  geese  sitting  ; 
A  pair  of  mattress  beds, 
And  a  bag  full  of  shreds. 
And  yet  for  all  these  goods  j 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


She  hath  a  clout  of  mine, 
Wrought  with  good  Coventry,: 
Which  she  keeps  for  a  sign 
Of  my  fidelity. 
But  i'  faith,  if  she  flinch, 
She  shall  not  wear  it : 
To  Tibb  my  t'other  wench, 
I  mean  to  bear  it. 
And  yet  it  grieves  my  heart, 
So  soon  from  her  to  part  ; 
Death  strikes  me  with  his  dart. 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


Thou  shalt  eat  curds  and  cream 

All  the  year  lasting; 

And  drink  the  crystal  stream 

Pleasant  in  tasting. 

Wig  and  whey  whilst  thou  burst, 

And  ramble  berry ; 

Pie-lid  and  pasty  crust, 

Pears,  plums  and  cherry. 


32° 


Phillada    flouts    me. 

Thy  raiment  shall  be  thin, 
Made  of  a  weaver's  skin  ! 
Yet  all's  not  worth  a  pin. 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


Fair  maiden  !  have  a  care 
And  in  time  take  me. 
I  can  have  those  as  fair; 
If  you  forsake  me. 
For  Doll  the  dairymaid 
Laught  on  me  lately  : 
And  wanton  Winifrid 
Favours  me  greatly. 
One  throws  milk  on  my  clothes  ; 
T'other  plays  with  my  nose. 
What  wanton  signs  are  those  ! 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


I  cannot  work  and  sleep 
All  at  a  season  ; 
Love  wounds  my  heart  so  deep, 
Without  all  reason. 
I  'gin  to  pine  away 
With  grief  and  sorrow ; 
Like  to  a  fatted  beast 
Penned  in  a  meadow. 
I  shall  be  dead,  I  fear, 
Within  this  thousand  year  j 
And  all  for  very  fear 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


321 


Ben     JonsoNo 

The  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid. 


Venus, 


[Masque  at  Lord  HADDINGTON'S  marriage 
on  Shrove  Tuesday  [8  Feb.]  1608.] 

T  is  no  common  cause,  ye  will  conceive, 
My  lovely  Graces  !  makes  your  goddess 

[leave 
Her  state  in  heaven  to  night,  to  visit  earth. 
Love  late  is  fled  away  !     My  eldest  birth 
Cupid,  whom  I  did  joy  to  call  my  son  : 
And,  whom  long  absent,  Venus  is  undone. 

Spy  !  if  you  can,  his  footsteps  on  this  green. 
For  here,  as  I  am  told,  he  late  hath  been 
With  divers  of  his  brethren,  lending  light 
From  their  best  flames,  to  gild  a  glorious  night ; 
Which  I  not  grudge  at,  being  done  for  her, 
Whose  honours  to  mine  own,  I  still  prefer. 
But  he,  not  yet  returning,  I'm  in  fear, 
Some  gentle  Grace  or  innocent  Beauty  here 
Be  taken  with  him  !  or  he  hath  surprised 
A  second  Psyche,  and  lives  here  disguised ! 
Find  ye  no  track  of  his  strayed  feet  j> 


ist  Grace. 

2nd  Grace.  Nor  I  ! 

3RD  Grace.  Nor  I ! 

11  x 


Not  I! 


322     The  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid. 

Venus.  Stay  Nymphs  !  We  then  will  try 

A  nearer  way.     Look  all  these  ladies'  eyes, 
And  see  if  there  he  not  concealed  lies! 
Or  in  their  bosoms, 'twixt  their  swelling  breasts ! 
(The  Wag  affects  to  make  himself  such  nests.) 
Perchance  he  hath  got  some  simple  heart,  to  hide 
His  subtle  shape  in.     I  will  have  himCryed, 
And  all  his  virtues  told !    That,  when  they  know 
What  spright  he  is,  she  soon  may  let  him  go, 
That  guards  him  now!  and  think  herself  right 
To  be  so  timely  rid  of  such  a  guest.  [blest 

Begin,  soft  Graces  !  and  proclaim  reward 
To  her  that  brings  him  in  !     Speak,to  be  heard  1 

ist  Grace.  Beauties !  Have  you  seen  this  toy 
Called  Love  ?     A  little  boy, 
Almost  naked,  wanton,  blind, 
Cruel  now,  and  then  as  kind  ? 
If  he  be  amongst  ye,  say  ! 
He  is  Venus'  runaway. 

2ND  Grace.  She  that  will  but  now  discover 

Where  the  winged  Wag  doth  hover ; 
Shall,  to-night,  receive  a  kiss, 
How,  or  where  herself  would  wish 
But  who  brings  him  to  his  mother, 
Shall  have  that  kiss,  and  another  ! 

3RD  Grace.  H'  hath  of  marks  about  him  plenty. 

You  shall  know  him  among  twenty  1 
All  his  body  is  a  fire  ; 
And  his  breath  a  flame  entire, 
That  being  shot  like  lightning  in, 
Wounds  the  heart,  but  not  the  skin. 


The  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid.      323 

ist  Grace.  At  his  sight,  the  sun  hath  turned  : 
Neptune  in  the  waters  burned  : 
Hell  hath  felt  a  greater  heat : 
Jove  himself  forsook  his  seat. 
From  the  centre  to  the  sky 
Are  his  trophies  reared  high. 

2ND  Grace.  Wings  he  hath,  which  though  ye  clip, 
He  will  leap  from  lip  to  lip, 
Over  liver,  lights,  and  heart ; 
But  not  stay  in  any  part : 
And,  if  chance  his  arrow  misses, 
He  will  shoot  himself,  in  kisses. 

3RD  Grace.  He  doth  bear  a  golden  bow 
And  a  quiver,  hanging  low, 
Full  of  arrows,  that  outbrave 
Dian's  shafts;  where  if  he  have 
Any  head  more  sharp  than  other, 
With  that  first  he  strikes  his  mother. 


ist  Grace.  Still  the  fairest  are  his  fuel, 

When  his  days  are  to  be  cruel. 
Lovers'  hearts  are  all  his  food, 
And  his  baths,  their  warmest  blood. 
Nought  but  wounds,  his  hand  doth  season; 
And  he  hates  none  like  to  Reason. 

2ND  Grace.  Trust  him  not !     His  words  though  sweet, 
Seldom  with  his  heart  do  meet ! 
All  his  practice  is  deceit! 
Every  gift  it  is  a  bait ! 
Not  a  kiss,  but  poison  bears ! 
And  most  treason  in  his  tears ! 


324     The  Hue  and  Cry  after  Cupid. 

3RD  Grace.  Idle  minutes  are  his  reign  ; 

Then,  the  Straggler  makes  his  gain : 
By  presenting  maids  with  toys, 
And  would  have  ye  think  'hem  joys ! 
'Tis  the  ambition  of  the  Elf, 
T'  have  all  childish,  as  himself. 

ist  Grace.  If  by  these,  ye  please  to  know  him, 

Beauties  !  be  not  nice,  but  show  him  ! 

2ND  Grace.  Though  ye  had  a  will  to  hide  him; 
Now,  we  hope,  ye'll  not  abide  him ! 

3RD  Grace.  Since  ye  hear  his  falser  play; 

And  that  he  is  Venus'  runaway. 

At  this,  from  behind  the  trophies,  Cupid  discovered  himself,  and 
came  forth  armed  ;  attended  by  twelve  boys  most  antiquely  attired, 
that  represented  the  sports  and  pretty  lightnesses  that  accompany 
LOVE,  under  the  titles  of  Jo  CI  and  Risus;  and  are  said  to  wait 
on  Venus,  as  she  is  Prefect  of  Marriage. 


325 


I\tng  Oberon's  apparel. 


[Musarttm  Deh'cue.] 


Hen  the  monthly  horned  queen 
Grew  jealous,  that  the  stars  had  seen 
Her  rising  from  Endymion's  arms  ; 
In  rage  she  threw  her  misty  charms 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  night ; 
To  dim  their  curious  prying  light. 

Then  did  the  dwarfish  fairy  elves — 
Having  first  attired  themselves — 
Prepare  to  dress  their  Oberon,  king, 
In  highest  robes,  for  revelling. 
In  a  cobweb  shirt,  more  thin 
Than  ever  spider  since  could  spin  ; 
Bleached  by  the  whiteness  of  the  snow, 
As  the  stormy  winds  did  blow 
It  in  the  vast  and  freezing  air. 
No  shirt  half  so  fine  !  so  fair  ! 

A  rich  waistcoat  they  did  bring, 
Made  of  the  trout  fly's  gilded  wing : 
At  that,  his  Elfship  'gan  to  fret, 
Swearing  it  would  make  him  sweat, 
Even  with  its  weight ;   and  needs  would  wear 
His  waistcoat  wove  of  downy  hair 
New  shaven  from  an  eunuch's  chin. 
That  pleased  him  well ;  'twas  wondrous  thin ! 


326        King  Oberon's  apparel. 

The  outside  of  his  doublet  was 
Made  of  the  four-leaved  true-love  grass ; 
On  which  was  set  so  fine  a  gloss, 
By  the  oil  of  crispy  moss, 
That  through  a  mist,  and  starry  light, 
It  made  a  rainbow  every  night. 
On  every  seam,  there  was  a  lace, 
Drawn  by  the  unctuous  snail's  slow  trace  ; 
To  it,  the  purest  silver  thread 
Compared,  did  look  like  dull  pale  lead. 

Each  button  was  a  sparkling  eye 
Ta'en  from  the  speckled  adder's  fry ; 
Which  in  a  gloomy  night  and  dark, 
Twinkled  like  a  fiery  spark. 

And  for  coolness,  next  his  skin 
'Twas  with  white  poppy  lined  within. 

His  breeches,  of  that  fleece  were  wrought, 
Which  from  Colchus,  Jason  brought ; 
Spun  into  so  fine  a  yarn, 
That  mortals  might  it  not  discern  ; 
Woven  by  Arachne  in  her  loom, 
Last  before  she  had  her  doom  ; 
Dyed  crimson  with  a  maiden's  blush, 
And  lined  with  dandely  on  plush. 

A  rich  mantle,  he  did  wear, 
Made  of  tinsel  gossamer  ; 
Bestarred  over  with  a  few 
Diamond  drops  of  morning  dew. 

His  cap  was  all  of  "  lady's  love  " 
So  passing  light,  that  it  did  move 
If  any  humming  gnat  or  fly 
But  buzzed  the  air,  in  passing  by. 

About  it  was  a  wreath  of  pearl 
Dropped  from  the  eyes  of  some  poor  girl ; 
Pinched,  because  she  had  forgot 
To  leave  fair  water  in  the  pot. 


327 


George    Wither. 


/  loved  a  lass  a  fair  one  I 


[A  Description  of  Love.     1629.] 


Loved  a  lass,  a  fair  one  ! 
As  fair  as  e'er  was  seen  : 
She  was,  indeed,  a  rare  one, 
Another  Sheba's  Queen ! 
But  (fool  as  then  I  was) 
I  thought  She  loved  me  too ! 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  I  lero  I  loo  ! 


328  I    LOVED    A    LASS,    A    FAIR    ONE! 

Her  hair,  like  gold,  did  glister. 
Each  eye  was  like  a  star. 
She  did  surpass  her  sister, 
Which  passed  all  others,  far ! 
She  would  me  "  Honey  !  "  call : 
She'd,  O  She'd  kiss  me,  too ! 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  !  lero  !  loo  I 


In  summer  time,  to  Medley 
My  Love  and  I  would  go ; 
The  boatmen  there,  stood  ready 
My  Love  and  I  to  row. 
For  cream,  there,  would  we  call, 
For  cakes,  and  for  prunes  too, — 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  !  lero !  loo  ! 

Many  a  merry  meeting 
My  Love  and  I  have  had. 
She  was  "  my  only  Sweeting !  " 
She  made  my  heart  full  glad. 
The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes 
Like  to  the  morning  dew ; 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero !  lero  !  loo  I 

And  as  abroad  we  walked 
(As  lovers'  fashion  is), 
Oft  we  sweetly  talked, — 
The  sun  should  steal  a  kiss  ; 
The  wind,  upon  her  lips, 
Likewise,  most  sweetly  blew, — 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  I  lero  !  loo  I 


I  LOVED  A  LASS,  A  FAIR  ONE  !       329 

Her  cheeks  were  like  the  cherry ; 
Her  skin,  as  white  as  snow  : 
When  She  was  blithe  and  merry, 
She  angel-like  did  shew. 
Her  waist  exceeding  small. 
The  "  fives  "  did  fit  her  shoe. 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  I  lero  I  loo  ! 

In  summer  time,  or  winter; 
She  had  her  heart's  desire  ; 
I  still  did  scorn  to  stint  her 
From  sugar,  sack,  or  fire. 
The  world  went  round  about ; 
No  cares  we  ever  knew  ; 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  !  lero !  loo ! 

As  we  walked  home  together, 
At  midnight,  through  the  town ; 
To  keep  away  the  weather, 
O'er  her,  I'd  cast  my  gown. 
No  cold,  my  Love  should  feel, 
Whate'er  the  heavens  could  do  ! 
But  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  !  lero  !  loo ! 


Like  doves,  we  would  be  billing, 
And  clip  and  kiss  so  fast ! 
Yet  She  would  be  unwilling 
That  I  should  kiss  the  last. 
They're  Judas  kisses  now  ! 
Since  that  they  proved  untrue. 
For  now,  alas,  She  has  left  me. 
Falero  I  lero !  loo  I 


S3°  I    LOVED   A    LASS,    A    FAIR    ONE  ! 

To  maidens'  vows  and  swearing ; 
Henceforth,  no  credit  give, 
You  may  give  them  the  hearing ; 
But  never  them  believe  ; 
They  are  as  False  as  Fair. 
Unconstant !  Frail  !  Untrue  ! 
For  mine,  alas,  has  left  me. 
Falero !  lero  !  loo  I 

'Twas  I,  that  paid  for  all  things, 
'Twas  others  drank  the  wine  ! 
I  cannot,  now,  recall  things ; 
Live  but  a  fool,  to  pine. 
'Twas  I  that  beat  the  bush ; 
The  bird,  to  others  flew, 
For  She,  alas,  hath  left  me. 
Falero  !  lero  !  loo  ! 


If  ever  that  Dame  Nature 
(For  this  false  lover's  sake), 
Another  pleasing  creature 
Like  unto  her,  would  make ; 
Let  her  remember  this, 
To  make  the  other  true ! 
For  this,  alas,  hath  left  me. 
Falero  I  lero  I  loo  I 

No  riches  now  can  raise  me, 
No  want  makes  me  despair, 
No  misery  amaze  me, 
Nor  yet  for  want,  I  care  : 
I  have  lost  a  World  itself; 
My  earthly  heaven,  adieu  ! 
Since  She,  alas,  hath  left  me, 
Falero  1  lero  I  loo  ! 


33i 


Abraham    Cowley. 

The  Chronicle, 

A  Ballad. 

[MiscellanUt.     Works.    1668.] 

Argarita  first  possest, 

If  I  remember  well,  my  breast ; 

Margarita,  first  of  all ! 
But  when  a  while  the  wanton  maid, 
With  my  restless  heart  had  played, 

Martha  took  the  flying  ball. 

II. 

Martha  soon  did  it  resign 
To  the  beauteous  Catharine  : 
Beauteous  Catharine  gave  place 

(Though  loath  and  angry  she,  to  part 

With  the  possession  of  my  heart) 
To  Eliza's  conquering  face. 

III. 
Eliza,  till  this  hour  might  reign, 

Had  she  not  evil  counsels  ta'en. 

Fundamental  laws  she  broke, 
And  still  new  favourites  she  chose ! 
Till  up  in  arms  my  Passions  rose, 

And  cast  away  her  yoke. 


332  The    Chronicle. 

IV. 

Mary  then,  and  gentle  Anne 

Both  to  reign  at  once  began : 
Alternately  they  swayed, 
And  sometimes  Mary  was  the  Fair, 
And  sometimes  Anne  the  Crown  did  wear, 
And  sometimes  both  I  obeyed. 


V. 

Another  Mary  then  arose, 

And  did  rigorous  laws  impose. 
A  mighty  tyrant  she  ! 
Long,  alas,  should  I  have  been 
Under  that  iron  sceptred  Queen  ; 
Had  not  Rebecca  set  me  free. 


VI. 

When  fair  Rebecca  set  me  free, 
'Twas  then  a  golden  time  with  me, 
But  soon  those  pleasures  fled ; 
For  the  gracious  Princess  died, 
In  her  youth  and  beauty's  pride  : 
And  Judith  reigned  in  her  stead. 


VII. 

One  month,  three  days,  and  half  an  hour, 
Judith  held  the  sovereign  power. 
Wondrous  beautiful  her  face  ; 

But  so  weak  and  small  her  wit, 

That  she  to  govern  was  unfit : 
And  so  Susanna  took  her  place. 


The   Chronicle.  333 

VIII. 

But  when  Isabella  came, 

Armed  with  a  resistless  flame 

And  th'  artillery  of  her  eye  ; 
Whilst  she  proudly  march'd  about, 
Greater  conquests  to  find  out, 

She  beat  out  Susan  by  the  bye. 


IX. 

But  in  her  place,  I  then  obeyed 
Black-eyed  Bess,  her  Viceroy-maid  : 
To  whom  ensued  a  Vacancy. 
Thousand  worst  passions  then  possess'd 
The  interregnum  of  my  breast. 
Bless  me,  from  such  an  anarchy! 


X. 

Gentle  Henriette  then, 

And  a  third  Mary  next  began ; 
Then  Joan,  and  Jane,  and  Andria  ; 
And  then  a  pretty  Thomasine, 
And  then  another  Katherine, 
And  then  a  long  Et  cetera  1 


XI. 

But  should  I  now  to  you  relate 

The  strength  and  riches  of  their  State, 
The  powder,  patches,  and  the  pins, 
The  ribbons,  jewels,  and  the  rings, 
The  lace,  the  paint,  and  warlike  things, 
That  make  up  all  their  magazines ! 


334  The    Chronicle. 

XII. 

If  I  should  tell  their  politic  arts 
To  take,  and  keep  men's  hearts  ! 
The  letters!  embassies  !   and  spies  1 

The  frowns  !   and  smiles  !  and  flatteries  ! 

The  quarrels  !  tears  !   and  perjuries  ! 
Numberless,  nameless  mysteries  1 

XIII. 

And  all  the  little  lime  twigs  laid 
By  Machiavel,  the  waiting  maid, 
I,  more  voluminous  should  grow, 
(Chiefly  if  I,  like  them,  should  tell, 
All  change  of  weathers  that  befell,) 
Than  Holingshed,  or  Stow. 

XIV. 

But  I  will  briefer  with  them  be  ; 

Since  few  of  them  were  long  with  me 
A  higher  and  a  nobler  strain, 

My  present  Empress  does  claim  ; 

Heleonora,  First  o'  the  name, 
Whom,  GOD  grant  long  to  reign  1 


335 


Abraham  Cowley** 

Sitting    and    drinking   in    the    chair 

made   out   of  the   relics    of  Sir 

Francis  Drjke's  ship. 

[Verses  lately  written  vfon  several 
occasions  &*c.     1663.] 

Ode. 

1. 

Heer  up,  my  mates  !     The  wind  does  fairly  blow. 
Clap  on  more  sail,  and  never  spare ! 
Farewell  all  lands,  for  now  we  are 
In  the  wide  sea  of  drink,  and  merrily  we  go. 
Bless  me  !  'tis  hot !     Another  bowl  of  wine, 

And  we  shall  cut  the  burning  line. 
Hey,  boys !  she  scuds  away !  and  by  my  head  I  know 

We  round  the  world  are  sailing  now. 
What  dull  men  are  those  that  tarry  at  home ; 
When  abroad  they  might  wantonly  roam, 
And  gain  experience ;  and  spy  too, 
Such  countries  and  such  wonders  as  I  do. 
But  prithee,  good  pilot !  take  heed  what  you  do ; 
And  fail  not  to  touch  at  Peru  ! 
With  gold  there,  our  vessel  we'll  store ; 
And  never,  and  never  be  poor ; 
No,  never  be  poor  any  more. 


336    An  Ode,  drinking  in  a  chair 

II. 

What  do  I  mean  ?     What  thoughts  do  me  misguide  ? 
As  well,  upon  a  staff,  may  witches  ride 

Their  fancied  journeys  in  the  air; 
As  I  sail  round  the  ocean  in  this  chair! 

'Tis  true  !  But  yet  this  chair,  which  here  you  see, 
For  all  its  quiet  now,  and  gravity, 
Has  wandered,  and  has  travelled  more 
Than  ever  beast,  or  fish,  or  bird,  or  tree  before. 
In  every  air,  and  every  sea  't  has  been ; 
'T  has  compassed  all  the  earth,  and  all  the  heavens  't  has 

seen. 
Let  not  the  Pope's  itself,  with  this,  compare ! 
This  is  the  only  Universal  Chair ! 


III. 

The  pious  wanderer's  fleet,  saved  from  the  flame 
(Which  still  the  relics  did  of  Troy  pursue, 

And  took  them  for  its  due), 
A  squadron  of  immortal  nymphs  became: 
Still  with  their  arms  they  row  about  the  seas, 
And  still  make  new  and  greater  voyages. 
Nor  has  the  first  poetic  ship  of  Greece, 
(Though  now,  a  star,  she  so  triumphant  show ; 
And  guide  her  sailing  successors  below, 
Bright  as  her  ancient  freight,  the  shining  fleece) 
Yet  to  this  day,  a  quiet  harbour  found : 
The  tide  of  heaven  still  carries  her  around. 
Only  Drake's  sacred  vessel,  which  before 

Had  done,  and  had  seen  more; 

Than  those  have  done  or  seen, 
Ev'n  since  they  goddesses,  and  this  a  star  has  been  ', 
As  her  reward  for  all  her  labour  past, 


MADE    OUT    OF    THE    GOLDEN  HlND.  T>37 

Is  made  the  seat  of  rest  at  last. 
Let  the  case  now  quite  altered  be  : 
And  as  thou  went'st  abroad  the  world  to  see ; 
Let  the  world  now  come  to  see  thee ! 

IV. 

The  world  will  do  't.     For  Curiosity 
Does  no  less  than  Devotion,  pilgrims  make. 
And  I  myself,  who  now  love  quiet  too, 
As  much  almost  as  any  chair  can  do ; 

Would  yet  a  journey  take, 
An  old  wheel  of  that  chariot  to  see, 

Which  Phaeton  so  rashly  brake ; 
Yet  what  could  that  say  more,  than  these  remains  of  Drake  ? 
Great  relic  !     Thou  too,  in  this  port  of  ease, 
Hast  still  one  way  of  making  voyages  ! 
The  Breath  of  Fame,  like  an  auspicious  gale, 

(The  great  Trade  Wind  which  ne'er  does  fail) 
Shall  drive  thee  round  the  world  !  and  thou  shalt  run 

As  long  around  it  as  the  sun  ! 
The  Straits  of  Time  too  narrow  are  for  thee ; 
Launch  forth  into  an  undiscovered  sea ! 
And  steer  the  endless  course  of  vast  Eternity! 
Take  for  thy  Sail,  this  verse  !  and  for  thy  Pilot,  me  I 


ii 


33* 

Abraham     Cowley. 
The    Wish. 

[The  Mistress.    1647.! 
I. 

PEll  then  !  I  now  do  plainly  see 
This  busy  world  and  I  shall  ne'er  agree. 
The  very  honey  of  all  earthly  joy 

Does  of  all  meats,  the  soonest  cloy  : 
And  they,  methinks,  deserve  my  pity ; 
Who  for  it,  can  endure  the  stings, 
The  crowd,  and  buz,  and  murmurings 
Of  this  great  hive,  the  City. 

II. 

Ah,  yet,  ere  I  descend  to  th'grave, 
May  I  a  small  house,  and  large  garden  have ! 
And  a  few  friends,  and  many  books ;  both  true, 

Both  wise,  and  both  delightful  too  ! 

And  since  love  ne'er  will  from  me  flee, 
A  mistress,  moderately  fair, 
As  good  as  guardian  angels  are, 

Only  beloved,  and  loving  me ! 

III. 

O  fountains !  when,  in  you,  shall  I 
Myself,  eased  of  unpeaceful  thoughts,  espy  ? 
O  fields !  O  woods  !  when  ?  when  shall  I  be  made 

The  happy  tenant  of  your  shade  ? 

Here's  the  spring-head  of  pleasure's  flood  1 
Here's  wealthy  Nature's  treasury, 
Where  all  the  riches  lie  !  that  She 

Has  coined  and  stampt  for  good. 


The  Wish 


339 


IV. 

Pride  and  Ambition  here, 
Only  in  far  fetch'd  metaphors  appear; 
Here,  nought  but  winds  can  hurtful  murmurs  scatter ; 

And  nought  but  echo  flatter  ! 

The  gods,  when  they  descended,  hither 
From  heaven  did  always  choose  their  way ; 
And  therefore  we  may  boldly  say, 

That  'tis  the  way  to  thither. 

V. 

How  happy  here,  should  I 
And  one  dear  She  live  ;  and  embracing,  die  r 
She  who  is  all  the  world,  and  can  exclude 

In  deserts,  solitude! 

I  should  have  then  this  only  fear  : 
Lest  men,  when  they  my  pleasure  see, 
Should  hither  throng  to  live  like  me ; 

And  so  make  a  City  here. 


<^* 


34° 


Andrew    Marvell,   M.P. 
Bermudas* 

[Miscellanies,  i68x.] 

Here  the  remote  Bermudas  ride 
In  th'ocean's  bosom  unespied  ; 
From  a  small  boat,  that  rowed  along, 
The  listening  winds  received  this  song. 

"  What  should  we  do,  but  sing  His  praise  ! 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown, 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own. 

Where  He,  the  huge  sea  monsters  wracks, 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs  ; 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage, 
Safe  from  the  storms'  and  prelates'  rage. 

He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring, 
Which  here  enamels  everything; 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care, 
On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 

He  hangs  in  shades,  the  orange  bright, 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night ; 
And  does  in  the  pomegranates  'close, 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormuz  shows. 

He  makes  the  figs,  our  mouths  to  meet, 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet ; 


Bermudas. 

But  'apples,  plants  of  such  a  price  ! 
No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice. 

With  cedars  chosen  by  His  hand 
From  Lebanon,  He  stores  the  land  : 
And  makes  the  hollow  seas,  that  roar, 
Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore. 

He  cast  (of  which  we  rather  boast) 
The  Gospel's  Pearl  upon  our  coast : 
And  in  these  rocks,  for  us  did  frame 
A  temple,  where  to  sound  His  name. 

O  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt, 
Till  it  arrive  at  heaven's  vault  ! 
Which  thence  (perhaps)  rebounding,  may 
Echo  beyond  the  Mexic  Bay." 

Thus  sung  they  in  the  English  boat, 
A  holy  and  a  cheerful  note  ; 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime9 
WTith  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 


341 


342 


Andrew    Marvell,   M.P. 

The  Garden. 

T  [Miscellanies.     1681.] 

Ow  vainly,  men  themselves  amaze 
To  win  the  Palm,  the  Oak,  or  Bays  ! 
And  their  incessant  labours  see 
Crowned  from  some  single  herb  or  tree  ; 
Whose  short  and  narrow-verged  shade 
Does  prudently  their  toils  upbraid  : 
While  all  flowers,  and  all  trees  do  close 
To  weave  the  Garlands  of  Repose. 

II. 

Fair  Quiet !     Have  I  found  thee  here ! 
And  Innocence,  thy  sister  dear ! 
Mistaken  long,  I  sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men. 
Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  below, 
Only  among  the  plants  will  grow  ! 
Society  is  all  but  rude, 
To  this  delicious  solitude. 

III. 

No  white,  nor  red  was  ever  seen 
So  am'rous  as  this  lovely  green. 
Fond  lovers,  cruel  as  their  flame, 
Cut  in  these  trees  their  mistress'  name. 


The    Garden.  343 

Little,  alas,  they  know  or  heed 
How  far  these  beauties,  hers  exceed. 
Fair  trees  !  wheresoe'er  your  barks  I  wound, 
No  name  shall,  but  your  own  be  found ! 


IV. 

When  we  have  run  our  passions'  heat, 
Love  hither  makes  his  best  retreat. 
The  gods,  that  mortal  beauty  chase, 
Still  in  a  tree  did  end  their  race. 
Apollo  hunted  Daphne  so, 
Only  that  she  might  laurel  grow  j 
And  Pan  did,  after  Syrinx  speed, 
Net  as  a  nymph,  but  for  a  reed. 

V. 

What  wondrous  life  is  this,  I  lead  ! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head  ! 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine, 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine  ! 
The  nectarine  and  curious  peach, 
Into  my  hands,  themselves  do  reach  ! 
Stumbling  on  melons,  as  I  pass ; 
Ensnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grass ! 

VI. 

Meanwhile  the  mind,  from  pleasure  less, 

Withdraws  into  its  happiness. 

The  Mind,  that  Ocean  !  where  each  kind, 

Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  find : 

Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these, 

Far  other  worlds,  and  other  seas  ! 

Annihilating  all  that's  made, 

To  a  green  Thought  in  a  green  Shade. 


344 


The    Garden. 

VII. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot, 
Or  at  some  fruit  tree's  mossy  root ; 
Casting  the  Body's  vest  aside, 
My  Soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide. 
There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings ; 
Then  whets  and  combs  its  silver  wings : 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight, 
Waves  in  its  plumes,  the  various  light. 

VIII. 

Such  was  that  happy  garden  state, 
While  Man  there  walked,  without  a  Mate : 
After  a  place  so  pure  and  sweet, 
What  other  Help  could  yet  he  meet  ? 
But  'twas  beyond  a  mortal's  share 
To  wander  solitary  there. 
Two  paradises  'twere  in  one, 
To  live  in  Paradise  alone. 

IX. 

How  well  the  skilful  gard'ner  drew, 

Of  flowers  and  herbs,  this  dial  new ! 

Where  from  above,  the  milder  sun 

Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run : 

And  as  it  works,  the  industrious  bee 

Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we. 

How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 

Be  reckoned,  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  ? 


gfo 


345 


Andrew   Marvell,   M.  P  . 

A  Dialogue  between  the  Resolved  Soul 
and  Created  Pleasure, 

[Miscellanies.  1681.] 

Ourage,  my  Soul!    Now  learn  to  wield 
The  weight  of  thine  immortal  shield  ! 
Close  on  thy  head  thy  helmet  bright ! 
Balance  thy  sword  against  the  fight ! 
See  where  an  army,  strong  as  fair, 
With  silken  banners  spreads  the  air ! 
Now  if  Thou  be'st  that  thing  divine, 
In  this  day's  combat,  let  it  shine  ! 
And  show  that  Nature  wants  an  art 
To  conquer  one  resolved  heart ! 

Pleasure.     Welcome,  the  Creation's  Guest ! 

Lord  of  Earth  !  and  Heaven's  Heir! 
Lay  aside  that  warlike  crest, 
And  of  Nature's  banquet  share  ! 
Where  the  souls  of  fruits  and  flowers 
Stand  prepared  to  heighten  yours  1 

Soul.     I  sup  above;  and  cannot  stay 
To  bait  so  long  upon  the  way. 

P  leasure.     On  these  downy  pillows  lie  ! 

Whose  soft  plumes  will  thither  fly  : 
On  these  roses  !   strewed  so  plain, 
Lest  one  leaf  thy  side  should  strain. 


346  The    Soul    and    Pleasure. 

Soul.     My  gentler  rest  is  on  a  Thought ; 
Conscious  of  doing  what  I  ought. 

Pleasure.     If  thou  be'st  with  perfumes  pleased, 
Such  as  oft  the  gods  appeased  ; 
Thou,  in  fragrant  clouds,  shall  show 
Like  another  god  below  ! 

Soul.     A  soul  that  knows  not  to  presume, 
Is  heaven's,  and  its  own  perfume. 

Pleasure.     Everything  does  seem  to  vie 

Which  should  first  attract  thine  eye  ; 
But  since  none  deserves  that  grace, 
In  this  crystal,  view  thy  face  ! 

Soul.     When  the  Creator's  skill  is  prized  ; 
The  rest  is  all  but  earth  disguised. 

Pleasure.     Hark,  how  Music  then  prepares 
For  thy  stay  these  charming  airs.1 
Which  the  posting  winds  recall, 
And  suspend  the  river's  fall. 

Soul.     Had  I  but  any  time  to  lose  ; 

On  this,  I  would  it  all  dispose. 

Cease  Tempter!     None  can  chain  a  mind, 

Whom  this  sweet  chordage  cannot  bind. 

Chorus.     Earth  cannot  show  so  brave  a  sight 
A  s  when  a  single  Soul  does  fence 
The  batteries  of  alluring  Sense  ; 
And  heaven  views  it  with  delight. 

Then  persevere  !  for  still  new  charges  sound ; 
And  if  thou  overcom'st,  thou  shalt  be  crowned  I 


The    Soul   and    Pleasure.         347 

Pleasure.     All  this  fair,  and  cost,  and  sweet, 
Which  scatteringly  doth  shine, 
Shall  within  one  Beauty  meet  ; 
And  she  be  only  thine  ! 

Soul.     If  things  of  Sight  such  heavens  be  ; 

What  heavens  are  those,  we  cannot  see  ? 

Pleasure.     Wheresoe'er  thy  foot  shall  go. 
The  minted  gold  shall  lie  ; 
Till  thou  purchase  all  below, 
And  want  new  worlds  to  buy  ! 

Soul.     Wer't  not  a  price,  who'ld  value  gold  ? 

And  that's  worth  nought,  that  can  be  sold. 

Pleasure.     Wilt  thou  all  the  glory  have 

That  war  or  peace  commend  ? 
Half  the  world  shall  be  thy  slave  ; 
The  other  half  thy  friend  ! 

Soul.     What  friends  !  if  to  myself  untrue  ? 
What  slaves  !  unless  I  captive  you  ? 

Pleasure.     Thou  shalt  know  each  hidden  cause! 
And  see  the  future  time  ! 
Try  what  depth,  the  centre  draws ! 
And  then  to  heaven  climb  ! 

Soul.     None  thither  mounts  by  the  degree 
Of  Knowledge,  but  Humility. 

CHORUS.     Triumph!  triumph!  victorious  Soul ! 
The  world  has  not  one  pleasure  more. 
The  rest  does  lie  beyond  the  pole, 
A  nd  is  thine  everlasting  store  ! 


348 

Sir  Charles    Sedley. 
Songs. 


SONG. 


[Poetical  Works.     1707.] 


Ove  still  has  something  of  the  sea ! 
From  whence  his  Mother  rose ; 
No  time,  his  slaves  from  Doubt  can  free, 
Nor  give  their  Thoughts  repose. 

They  are  becalmed,  in  clearest  days ; 

And  in  rough  weather  tost  : 
They  wither  under  cold  delays, 

Or  are  in  tempests  lost. 

One  while,  they  seem  to  touch  the  port : 
Then  straight  into  the  Main  ! 

Some  angry  wind,  in  cruel  sport, 
The  vessel  drives  again. 

At  first,  Disdain  and  Pride  they  fear ; 

Which  if  they  chance  to  'scape, 
Rivals  and  Falsehood  soon  appear 

In  a  more  dreadful  shape. 

By  such  degrees,  to  Joy  they  come, 

And  are  so  long  withstood  ; 
So  slowly  they  receive  the  sum, 

It  hardly  does  them  good  ! 

'Tis  cruel  to  prolong  a  Pain  ! 

And  to  defer  a  Joy 
(Believe  me,  gentle  CelemeneI) 

Offends  the  winged  Boy  ! 


Sir  Charles  Sedley.  349 

A  hundred  thousand  oaths,  your  fears, 

Perhaps,  would  not  remove  ! 
And  if  I  gazed  a  thousand  years, 

I  could  no  deeper  love ! 


SONG. 

Ears  not,  my  Phillis  !  how  the  birds 
Their  feathered  mates  salute  ! 
They  tell  their  Passion  in  their  words ; 
Must  I  alone  be  mute  ? 
Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile, 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while  ! 

The  God  of  Love,  in  thy  bright  eyes, 

Does  like  a  tyrant  reign  ! 
But  in  thy  heart,  a  child  he  lies, 
Without  his  dart,  or  flame ! 
Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile, 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while  ! 

So  many  months,  in  silence  past, 

(And  yet  in  raging  love) 
Might  well  deserve  One  Word,  at  last 
My  Passion  should  approve  ! 
Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile, 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while ! 

Must  then,  your  faithful  Swain  expire  ! 

And  not  one  look  obtain  ! 
Which  he,  to  sooth  his  fond  Desire, 
Might  pleasingly  explain  ! 
Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile. 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while  ! 


350  Sir  Charles  Sedley. 

SONG. 

Hillis  !  Men  say  that  all  my  vows 

Are  to  thy  fortune,  paid  ! 
Alas,  my  heart,  he  little  knows  ; 
Wha  thinks  my  love  a  Trade ! 

Were  I,  of  all  these  woods  the  Lord  I 
One  berry,  from  thy  hand, 

More  real  pleasure  would  afford  1 
Than  all  my  large  command. 

SONG. 

Hillis  is  my  only  joy! 

Faithless  as  the  winds  or  seas  ; 
Sometimes  coming,  sometimes  coy, 
Yet  She  never  fails  to  please  1 
If  with  a  frown, 
I  am  cast  down : 
Phillis  smiling, 
And  beguiling, 
Makes  me  happier  than  before ! 

Though,  alas,  too  late  I  find, 
Nothing  can  her  Fancy  fix ! 
Yet  the  moment,  She  is  kind  ; 
I  forgive  her  all  her  tricks  ! 
Which,  though  I  see, 
I  can't  get  free  ! 
She  deceiving, 
I  believing  ; 
What  need  lovers  wish  for  more  f 


35i 


yrj  a 


Charles    Cotton. 
Winter. 

[Poems  on  several  occasions  1 

Ark  !  hark  !  I  hear  the  north  wind  roar. 
See  how  he  riots  on  the  shore  ! 
And  with  expanded  wings  outstretcht, 
Ruffles  the  billows  on  the  beach. 

Hark  !  how  the  routed  waves  complain, 
And  call  for  succour  to  the  main  ; 
Flying  the  storm  as  if  they  meant 
To  creep  into  the  continent. 

Surely  all  ^Eol's  huffing  brood 
Are  met  to  war  against  the  flood ; 
Which  seems  surprised,  and  has  not  yet 
Had  time  his  levies  to  complete. 

The  beaten  bark,  her  rudder  lost, 

Is  on  the  rolling  billows  tost; 

Her  keel  now  ploughs  the  ooze,  and  soon 

Her  topmast  tilts  against  the  moon. 

'Tis  strange  the  pilot  keeps  his  seat, 
His  bounding  ship  does  so  curvet : 
Whilst  the  poor  passengers  are  found 
In  their  own  fears,  already  drowned. 


152  Charles    Cotton's 

Now  fins  do  serve  for  wings,  and  bear 
Their  scaly  squadrons  through  the  air ; 
Whilst  the  air's  inhabitants  do  stain 
Their  gaudy  plumage  in  the  main. 

Now  stars  concealed  in  clouds,  do  peep 
Into  the  secrets  of  the  deep  : 
And  lobsters  spued  from  the  brine, 
With  Cancer's  constellations,  shine. 

Sure  Neptune's  watery  kingdoms  yet, 
Since  first  their  coral  graves  were  wet  ; 
Were  ne'er  disturbed  with  such  alarms, 
Nor  had  such  trial  of  their  arms. 

See  where  a  liquid  mountain  rides, 
Made  up  of  innumerable  tides  ; 
And  tumbles  headlong  on  the  strand  : 
As  if  the  sea  would  come  to  land. 


A  sail !  a  sail  !   I  plainly  spy 
Betwixt  the  ocean  and  the  sky ; 
An  argosy,  a  tall  built  ship, 
With  all  her  pregnant  sails  atrip. 

Nearer  and  nearer  she  makes  way, 
With  canvas  wings,  into  the  bay  ; 
And  now  upon  the  deck  appears 
A  crowd  of  busy  mariners. 

Methinks,  I  hear  the  cordage  crack, 
With  furrowing  Neptune's  foaming  back  ; 
Who  wounded  and  revengeful,  roars 
His  fury  to  the  neighbouring  shores. 


Winter.  35, 

With  massy  trident  high,  he  heaves 
Her  sliding  keel  above  the  waves ; 
Opening  his  liquid  arms  to  take 
The  bold  invader  in  his  wreck. 

See  how  she  dives  into  his  chest ! 
Whilst  raising  up  his  floating  breast, 
To  clasp  her  in  ;  he  makes  her  rise 
Out  of  the  reach  of  his  surprise. 

Nearer  she  comes,  and  still  doth  sweep 
The  azure  surface  of  the  deep  ; 
And  now  at  last  the  waves  have  thrown 
Their  rider  on  our  Albion. 

Under  the  black  cliff's  spumy  base, 
The  sea-sick  hulk  her  freight  displays ; 
And  as  she  walloweth  on  the  sand, 
Vomits  her  burden  to  the  land. 

With  heads  erect  and  plying  oar, 
The  shipwrecked  mates  make  to  the  shore ; 
And  dreadless  of  their  danger,  climb 
The  floating  mountains  of  the  brine. 

Hark!  hark  !   the  noise  their  echo  makes, 
The  islands,  silver  waves  to  shake  ; 
Sure  with  these  throws  the  labouring  main 
Is  delivered  of  a  hurricane. 

And  see  the  seas  becalmed  behind, 
Not  crispt  with  any  breeze  of  wind  ; 
The  tempest  has  forsook  the  waves, 
And  on  land  begins  his  braves. 
II  z 


354  Charles    Cotton's 

Hark  !  hark  !  their  voices  higher  rise, 
They  tear  the  welkin  with  their  cries. 
The  very  rocks  their  fury  feel, 
And  like  sick  drunkards  nod  and  reel. 

Louder  and  louder,  still  they  come 
Nile's  cataracts  to  these  are  dumb. 
The  Cyclops  to  these  blades,  are  still  5 
Whose  anvils  shake  the  burning  hill. 

Were  all  the  stars  enlightened  skies, 
As  full  of  ears  as  sparkling  eyes  ; 
This  rattle  in  the  crystal  hall, 
Would  be  enough  to  deaf  them  all. 


What  monstrous  race  is  hither  tost, 
Thus  to  alarm  our  British  coast 
With  outcries  ;  such  as  never  yet 
War  or  confusion  could  beget. 

Oh  !  now  I  know  them,  let  us  home. 
Our  mortal  enemy  is  come. 
Winter  and  all  his  blust'ring  train 
Have  made  a  voyage  o'er  the  main. 

Banisht  the  countries  of  the  sun, 
The  fugitive  is  hither  run; 
To  ravish  from  our  fruitful  fields 
All  that  the  teeming  season  yields. 

Like  an  invader,  not  a  guest ; 
He  comes  to  riot,  not  to  feast : 
And  in  wild  fury  overthrows 
Whatever  does  his  march  oppose. 


Winter.  355 

With  bleak  and  with  congealing  winds, 
The  earth  in  shining  chains  he  binds  ; 
And  still  as  he  doth  further  pass, 
Quarries  his  way  with  liquid  glass. 

Hark  !   how  the  blusterers  of  the  Bear, 
Their  gibbous  cheeks  in  triumph  tear ; 
And  with  continued  shouts  do  ring 
The  entry  of  their  palsied  King. 

The  squadron  nearest  to  your  eye 

Is  his  Forlorn  of  infantry  ; 

Bowmen  of  unrelenting  minds, 

Whose  shafts  are  feathered  with  the  winds. 

Now  you  may  see  his  Vanguard  rise 
Above  the  earthly  precipice  ; 
Bold  horse,  on  bleakest  mountains  bred, 
With  hail  instead  of  provend  fed. 

Their  lances  are  the  pointed  locks, 
Torn  from  the  brows  of  frozen  rocks  ; 
Their  shields  are  crystals,  as  their  swords, 
The  steel  the  rusted  rock  affords. 

See  the  Main  body  now  appears  ! 
And  hark  !  the  yBolian  trumpeters, 
By  their  hoarse  levets,  do  declare 
That  the  bold  General  rides  there. 

And  look  where  mantled  up  in  white 
He  sleds  it  like  the  Muscovite. 
I  know  him  by  the  port  he  bears, 
And  his  life-guards  of  mountaineers. 


356  Charles    Cotton's 

Their  caps  are  furred  with  hoary  frost, 
The  bravery  their  cold  kingdom  boasts ; 
Their  spongy  plaids  are  milk-white  frieze 
Spun  from  the  snowy  mountains'  fleece. 

Their  partisans  are  fine  carved  glass, 
Fringed  with  the  morning's  spangled  grass; 
And  pendant  by  their  brawny  thighs, 
Hang  scimitars  of  burnisht  ice. 


See  !  see !  the  Rearward  now  has  won 
The  promontory's  trembling  crown  ; 
Whilst  at  their  numerous  spurs,  the  ground 
Groans  out  a  hollow  murmuring  sound. 

The  Forlorn  now  halts  for  the  Van, 
The  Rearguard  draws  up  to  the  Main  ; 
And  now  they  altogether  crowd 
Their  troops  into  a  threatening  cloud. 

Fly  !  fly  !  the  foe  advances  fast. 
Into  our  fortress,  let  us  haste  ; 
Where  all  the  roarers  of  the  north 
Can  neither  storm,  nor  starve  us  forth. 

There  underground  a  magazine 
Of  sovereign  juice  is  collared  in, 
Liquor  that  will  the  siege  maintain 
Should  Phoebus  ne'er  return  again. 

'Tis  that,  that  gives  the  poet  rage, 
And  thaws  the  jellied  blood  of  age  ; 
Matures  the  young,  restores  the  old, 
And  makes  the  fainting  coward  bold. 


Winter.  357 

Then  let  the  chill  Sirocco  blow, 

And  gird  us  round  with  hills  of  snow ; 

Or  else  go  whistle  to  the  shore 

And  make  the  hollow  mountains  roar. 

While  we  together  jovial  sit 
Careless,  and  crowned  with  mirth  and  wit ; 
Where  though  bleak  winds  confine  us  home, 
Our  fancies  round  the  world  shall  roam. 

We  think  of  all  the  friends  we  know, 
And  drink  to  all  worth  drinking  to  ; 
When  having  drunk  all  thine  and  mine, 
We  rather  shall  want  health  than  wine. 

But  where  friends  fail  us,  we'll  supply 
Our  friendships  with  our  charity  ; 
Men  that  remote  in  sorrows  live, 
Shall  by  our  lusty  brimmers  thrive. 

We'll  drink  the  wanting  into  wealth, 
And  those  that  languish  into  health, 
The  afflicted  into  joy,  th'opprest 
Into  security  and  rest. 

The  worthy  in  disgrace  shall  find 
Favour  return  again  more  kind  ; 
And  in  restraint  who  stifled  lie, 
Shall  taste  the  air  of  liberty. 

The  brave  shall  triumph  in  success, 
The  lovers  shall  have  mistresses, 
Poor  unregarded  virtue,  praise; 
And  the  neglected  poet,  bays. 


358    Charles  Cotton's  Winter. 

Thus  shall  our  healths  do  others  good, 
Whilst  we  ourselves  do  all  we  would  ; 
For  freed  from  envy  and  from  care, 
What  would  we  be  ?  but  what  we  are. 


Tis  the  plump  grape's  immortal  juice 
That  does  this  happiness  produce  ; 
And  will  preserve  us  free  together, 
Maugre  mischance  or  wind  and  weather. 

Then  let  Old  Winter  take  his  course, 
And  roar  abroad  till  he  be  hoarse ; 
And  his  lungs  crack  with  ruthless  ire; 
It  shall  but  serve  to  blow  our  fire. 

Let  him  our  little  castle  ply 
With  all  his  loud  artillery : 
Whilst  Sack  and  Claret  man  the  fort, 
His  fury  shall  become  our  sport. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty, 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


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